Horror of Panem
by nina amina
Summary: Lovino Vagas takes his brother's place in the 74th annual Hunger Games. HE promises his brother he will do anything to come home. Even if it means killing the boy with the bread.
1. Chapter 1

_Umm.. Hello. This is the story Bloody Games. I'm nina amina and i adopted it from Fekete. As soon as I get all the chapters they wrote up I will begin updating thisstory. Please be patient and have faith. I will make sure it is finished._

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

Chapter 1: The Reaping

When I wake up, I find the other side of the bed cold. I try to press my body to Feli's, seeking his warmth, but instead I only find the mattress. I try to think of every reason why he wouldn't be here, with me, and only find one. He must have went to our mother's bed, looking for protection, hoping that she'll defend him. What a joke, as if that woman could do anything of the sort. But I can't blame him. He's turned twelve this March, and today is the day of the reaping. The nightmare of every citizen of Panem.

I sit up and squint my eyes, the room too bright for me. My eyes automatically follow my instinct to protect Feli and I see him, curled up against our mother. I can see dried tears on my brother's cheeks, he probably cried himself to sleep. Mother's arm is holding him protectively, her face relaxed. I can't help but think that she's beautiful like that, when she's asleep and free of worries. Feli, too, seems brighter and more lovely, his smooth cheek pressed against mother's. I stare at them for a while, before a very annoying and disturbing sound makes me look down.

Pasta is the ugliest, most irritating and hateful cat I have seen in my life. I haven't seen a lot of them, that is true, but he would make the top list even if I have seen thousands of them. He's my brother's pet and honestly, Feli is the only reason why that little bastard is still alive. My fratellino found him and insisted on keeping him, saying that the poor kitty can't be left alone. I tried to drown him and then maybe sell to Heracles, the distributor from black market. I'm sure Heracles would make a delicious soup using that disgusting thing's meat. Unfortunately Feli got to me before I could actually kill the damn thing. I knew that stupid Pasta would stay in our house as soon as Feliciano started crying. Well, whatever. The damned cat hates me, I hate him, it's all fine. There's been an improvement though. Sometimes when I give him scraps of food, he doesn't hiss on me. But that's only because I feed him. Well, it's fine. I won't get closer to loving him than that.

I sigh, my eyes lingering on Feli's delicate form for a few more seconds. There's not time to waste, I think to myself. I get up quickly, sliding into my hunting boots, putting on trousers, shirt and grabbing my bag that I always fill with game. I'm ready to go before I notice something lying on a table, a small smile spreading across my face. There, under a wooden bowl, I can see perfectly shaped piece of goat cheese. There's no doubt it's Feliciano's present for me, to keep evil, hungry little beasts from the woods. I put it into my pocket and slip out from the house.

Me and my family live in a poor part of district 12 that was nicknamed the Seam. Usually in the mornings it's already crowded by coal miners getting ready for work, or already heading towards the mines. There is no time to waste, the faster they begin the better, or so they say. Coal miners' faces are always so hollow, sunken, lifeless, so unlike the face of the coal miner that I remember so well, that I loved so much. And perhaps it was that incident, that one fatal day that made coal miners hate their work even more. Even so, the streets were usually crowded with them by this hour. But not today, not on the reaping day. It's that one day in the whole year where they can sleep in, when they don't have to go to work, when the shutters on their houses can be closed till late. The reaping day.

I shake my head, trying to get these depressing thoughts out of my head. I pick up the pace, my feet navigating me towards the Meadow. It's close to my house and separated from my happy place only by a high chain-link fence, that was supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. In reality, it pretty much wasn't electrified, ever. We're really lucky if we get two or three hours of electricity in the evening. It did help keep the wild animals at bay, though, so you could say that this thing did kind of fulfill its' duties. The fact that it wasn't alive most of the time never kept me from listening carefully for a hum, a sound that meant that it was, in fact, live. I grin despite myself when I hear nothing. It's dead and silent, just like I like it most. I flatted on my belly and slide under a stretch in the fence that has been loose since I can remember. It's not the only weak spot in the fence, but it's the closest to my house, so I usually end up using it whenever I go to the woods.

As soon as I enter the woods, I snatch my bow and sheath of arrows from the log, my secret place for them. It's not safe to roam the woods without weapon, unless you have a death wish. My father taught me how to use bow and arrows and showed me some of the places where I can find food before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. It was five years ago when I was eleven. Five years have passed and I still wake up sweating, screaming for him to run. He never does, he just stands there, waiting for his death. Five years. I'm not sure if they passed far too quick, of far too slow.

After my father's death, my mother fell apart. She stopped talking to us, stopped caring. Me and Feli were on verge of death too, and that's exactly because of her. When dad died, it was as if the whole family lost their lives completely. I was, am, so mad at her. She gave up on herself, on us, she was ready to let us starve to death. There was a time when I was ready to do so too, but then I looked at Feli, cute, innocent, lovely, dear little Feli and I knew that I can't do it. That I can't let them die. Mother's death would kill Feliciano, his death would kill me. So I learnt how to use bow and arrows, I went to the woods, I killed my first prey and brought it back home.

Hunting is illegal and if anyone will ever catch me doing it, I'll be probably killed or severely punished. At least that's what is supposed to happen. Most of the Peacekeepers in district 12 pretend not to notice that I and other people do illegal stuff. They are just as hungry for fresh meat as we are. Truthfully, Peacekeepers are one of my best customers.

There are some people, who instead of hunting come here in the fall to harvest apples. They mostly keep in the Meadow, though, too afraid that something will chase and kill them. Really, stupid people. What are they scared of? Wild animals? Right, because starving to death is so much better than being torn apart.

"District twelve, where you can fucking starve to death with a smile on your face" I grumble, not really caring if somehow, by some miracle someone could hear me. Maybe it'd be better if these stupid spies from Capitol heard. But then I shake my head again, chasing away those stupid thoughts. 'Mom would be outraged', I think to myself.

When I was younger I would often mutter offensive words about district twelve and Capitol under my breath. It always terrified my mother. She lived in fear that someone might hear and that Peacekeepers might sentence me or our whole family to death. My dad just laughed and told me not to say something like that, because those Capitol assholes can turn one word against you. Mother nearly slapped him when he said 'assholes', scolding him for teaching me blasphemy. In all honesty, I'm pretty sure that she had similar thoughts. After my father's death I started controlling myself, not stating my offensive opinions out loud. It would be disastrous if little Feli heard be say something like that and then repeat it somewhere in town. What if he heard me talking too much about the Hob – the black market where I trade most of my game – or Hunger Games, or Reaping itself? Or calling everyone bastards? Better not risk that, I thought.

With no possibility to be myself, whether it's at town, at school or even at my precious home, I found myself falling even more in love with the woods. Because that's the place where my one and only relief awaits me. Gilbert. He's the only person with whom I can stop pretending. My muscles relax and I can feel myself smiling at the mere thought of him. How stupid, I think, before quickening my pace. Faster, faster, I climb faster to reach our place, our rock protected by berry bushes. When I'm nearly there I can see him, standing tall with a smile on his face and I can't help but smile back. He says I only smile when I'm in the woods.

"Hey there, Domino" I scowl, mostly because it's a habit though. My name is not nearly is retarded as Domino, it's actually Lovino. Gilbert calls me Domino because the first time we met, I had whispered my name and he caught it wrongly. Stupid bastard. It wouldn't be nearly as bad if the only time he called me that was here, in the woods. Unfortunately, he tends to scream it out loud in the city, which humors 12's citizens a lot.

"Look at what my awesomeness hunted down" with a smirk, he holds up a loaf of bread pierced by an arrow. I snicker and take it in my arms. It's rare to find such delicious thing here. Only the wealthy, snobbish merchants can afford it. Real bread from bakery with amazing scent, that we from Seam can only dream of, usually. We don't have nearly enough money to buy it, and there is no way that we could make it from grain that we get, even if we had enough of it.

"Just what in the fuck did it cost you?" I ask, finally looking up. His eyes, crimson red, were focused on the sky, a ghost of a smile still playing on his lips.

"Well aren't you a curious one, Domino" he laughs when he catches my glare "Juts a squirrel. One, furry little squirrel. I think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning. Kinda unawesome. He even wished me luck" we both laugh.

"We all feel closer on the Reaping day though, don't we? Funny that it's the only time of the year when these merchant bastards pay attention to us. Feli left us cheese. Little idiot is feeling generous too"

His expression brightens, a crazy grin spreads across his face. He looks like a mad lunatic sometimes.

"Thank you, Feli! Thanks to your kind soul, me and your unawesome brother will have a real feast today!" his voice falls into Capitol accent, mimicking the crazy blond haired male that comes here for the Reaping every year – Feliks Łukasiewicz, I always have problems pronouncing his name. "How, like, totally unawesome! How could have I forgotten to wish you Happy Hunger Games, dear!" he rips a tiny bit of bread and tosses it into the air, towards me "And may the odds –"

I catch it easily, years of playing this game with him made it easier than getting up in the morning " – be ever in your favor!" I finish, trying my best to make my Capitol accent sound perfect. Gilbert laughs again, pinching my cheek. The Reaping Day is feared by everyone here, probably everyone by us. Maybe we are scared too, but at least we found alternate way to express it. We laugh it off. It's better than shivering or crying. And who could resist making fun of that stupid Capitol citizens? Stuck up bastards with walls of make up on. They look disgusting and dumb to us, poor Seam kids. I watch Gilbert as he takes out his knife and slices the bread in two equal parts before passing me one half. We could be siblings, even though we look nothing alike. Normal Seam kids have dark brown or black hair and hazel or black eyes, our skin is also slightly tanned. But Gilbert and his family? They could pass as merchants. Maybe not Gilbert nor his mother, but his siblings and their late father for sure. Ludwig, the second oldest son of the Beilschmidt family, has blond hair and blue eyes, like most of merchants. The third oldest son and the only daughter, Vash and Lili, have blond hair too, just their eyes are green. Gilbert was the freak of the family. His soft hair used to be the same color as his brothers and sister's, but they turned to silvery white with years. His eyes, crimson, blood-red, terrifying, but quite enchanting were like no one else's. The thing is, he was born with hazel eyes, the Seam eyes, but four years later they slowly started changing color. No one knows why though. Aunt Lisa, Gil's mom, said that it's because he was too awesome for Seam or merchant or Victors. He was unique, so he had to show off his awesomeness right before his fifth birthday.

The first time me and Gilbert met was four years ago. I was a skinny twelve year old, ready to murder the whole world if it meant Feli's safety, and he was a fourteen year old jackass, already looking like a man with his gigantic height. Well okay, not gigantic, but it was un-fucking-fair. Why was he taller than me? He is only two years older! It makes me wonder how we even became friends, seeing as we were ready to kill each other the first time we met. I guess we both just noticed that the other's existence might help get a bigger game.

I pass cheese goat to Gilbert to spread it on both halves of the bread while I pick up some berries. As soon as he's finished, we both sit in a nook of the rock. It's funny how safe I feel here, really. Anything could kill me out here, be it a bear or a pack of wild dogs. And I'm not scared, not in the least. The day is beautiful, sky seems bluer than ever today. It's cloudless, the sun shines brightly, birds chirp in their squeaky voices. I feel truly relaxed and at ease here, in the woods with Gilbert. I could spend here the whole day. Instead we'll have to go and stand like idiots in the square at two o'clock, waiting for our names to be called out for Capitol's sick entertainment.

"We could do it, you know" Gil says quietly, his eyes focused on a bird sitting on a tree.

"Do what?" I ask, a part of me already knowing the answer. We've talked about it a few times already.

"Run away. We could take our families and run away from district twelve and the unawesome Capitol crap"

"To where? Here? Can you imagine Lili and Feli here, in the woods, surrounded by these carnivorous beasts?"

"We could make it. You and I. We could protect them"

"There are too many of them" we fall silent, staring off into the distance. It's not like the idea have never crossed my mind. It have. A lot of times, really. But every time I even thought about it, Feliciano's smiling face would pop up in my head. He wouldn't make it here, and I could never leave the district without him. Both Gilbert and I hunt daily not to let these children, my brother and his three siblings, get hungry. But there are still days when they are hungry, when they go the whole day without food. "I don't want to have children, ever"

"Kids would be awesome. Really, really awesome. If only we didn't live here, I mean"

"Well we fucking do!" I yell, annoyed. I don't know why but a thought of Gilbert having children annoys me more than his stupid talk. I don't think it's jealousy. I've never considered Gilbert a potential lover material. It's not because he's a man, in Panem it doesn't really matter that much, because there are much more men than women here and homosexual relationships aren't that unusual. It's just… albino bastard is more like a brother to me. I can't imagine myself kissing him or adopting a kid with him. So really, I know it would be easy for him to find a wife or even a husband. He's good-looking and people talk about him, throw lustful gazes his way. And it makes me jealous, yes, but not that way. He's my only friend and a hunting partner. Those a really hard to find.

"Gott, forget it!" he snaps back, standing up. Oh great, he just frightened the birds that could have been our food! But I bite my tongue. He's already irritated anyway, and when he's irritated I'm irritated, too, and it's hard to catch anything.

"What do you want to do now? Hunt? Gather? Fish?" our eyes meet for a while and the tension from before is gone.

"Let's go fishing. The fish will catch themselves and we can gather some greens. Maybe we'll find some nice rabbit too. We need a feast for tonight, after all" if neither of us is reaped, I think. Every year most of the families celebrate on the Reaping Day, thankful that their children weren't chosen for the Games. But there are always two families who shut themselves out from the whole world. Who can blame them, really?

"Great. Come on then, bastard" it is a good day. By late morning we've gathered a lot of greens and a gallon of strawberries, which Mayor just adores. We also have a dozen of fish. Before Gilbert I did just fine, but the amount of food I gathered wasn't even half as much. See why I would be jealous? That guy is fucking useful and one in a million hunter. I'm still better though.

As always when we go back home, we stop by the black market that we call the Hob. That's where we trade most of the goods we gather, kill or pick up. It's never a problem to find someone here with whom we could make a deal. It takes six fish for a good bread and another two for salt. I'm sure that my brother will be very happy to see bread, it's been such a long time. Heracles, a middle aged man that sells bowls of hot soup gives us couple of chunks of paraffin in exchange for half of the greens. He's a weird guy. Pasta likes him a lot, and he likes Pasta too, even insists that I bring him here sometimes. Anyone that likes Pasta is weird. Look at Feliciano, now at me. Which one is more normal? Me. And who does Pasta dislike? Me. That juts proves that Heracles is a weird guy. But me and Gil try to be in good relations with him, because he is the only person who is willing to buy a wild dog that we somehow end up killing. We don't hunt them down on purpose, but if they attack us we have no other option but to kill it. What Heracles does with them? Well…

"Once it's in my delicious soup, it is beef" he says, and I laugh. I like him, kind of. He isn't an asshole like most of the people and his soups are good. And here, in Seam, no one really minds even if it's a wild dog that they're eating. People are starving and meat is meat. It's better not to let Peacekeepers know though. They're picky about their food.

After finishing Heracles' soup that he gave us for free – Gilbert was right, people do seem more sentimental today – we go to the back door of the Mayor's house. He loves strawberries and pays us quite an amount. He's a precious customer, but he's rarely the one to open the door. It's usually Matthew, his only son. It's not different today.

Matt is my classmate and the closest I'll get to someone who I can get along with at school, apart from albino bastard. He's a quiet kid and most of the people don't even remember that he exists. When they do, it's either to get on his good side – he is rich – or because they hate him or think that he's a snob. Most of the Seam kids do, really. But I don't. I think that he's just shy and prefers to keep to himself rather than associate with assholes. He's like me, in some ways. Not all, because our statuses area different and I doubt he was ever desperate for food, but personality wise. We're both rather antisocial and don't have many friends. I guess it's the reason why the two us often ends up together at school. We eat lunch together, partner for sport activities, sit next to each other in class, do projects together. We don't talk a lot, but it suits both of us just fine. Are we friends? I don't know.

He isn't wearing his usual school clothes today. Instead he's wearing neat, white shirt and dark blue jacket. A tie is carefully tied around his neck. It matches his trousers. They look expensive. Reaping clothes.

"Nice suit" Gilbert say and I'm sure that I caught a mocking note in his voice. Matthew must have, too, because he's staring at him in confusion. Probably deciding if Gil was making fun of him or not. He catches me by surprise when a sweet smile crosses his face.

"Thank you. If I end up reaped it's obvious I'd like to look nice in the Capitol, no? Can't bring shame no my father" now it's Gilbert's time to furrow his brows. Did Matt mean it or was he mocking my friend? I'm betting a bread on the second one.

"You reaped? Stop fucking around" Gilbert's voice is cold, his crimson eyes staring holes in Matthew's chest where a golden pin is placed. It's real gold, I can tell, and it could keep a family in bread for months, maybe even a year if played well. "Rich kids like you have, what, five entries? Six? I had six when I was twelve! Do you even know how many I have right now?"

"Shut up, bastard. It's not like it's his fault" it's not his fault that he was born as merchants' son, hah, as Mayor's son! But it's not a reason to hate him. Even I know that much.

"I know! I know, okay? Not his fault. Who cares. Rich kids like them should be reaped to teach all these snobs a lesson" Gilbert stomps away, acting like an immature bastard that he is. It's his last Hunger Games as a possible tribute. He's probably just nervous. Yeah right. He's just a prick.

"Good luck today, Lovino" Matthew whispers, his face unreadable. Was he hurt? Why? Was it because the rumors were true and he had a crush on Gilbert?

"You too, Matt" I say and take the money he offers me. The door closes and I follow albino bastard.

When I catch up with him, we walk in silence. I'm sort of annoyed with his outburst at Matt. It's not like I didn't understand. I did. The reaping system was unfair for the poorer.

Everyone can become a tribute as long as they're from twelve to eighteen years old. It means that at the age of twelve we get one entry, one piece of paper with our name on it. Two when we're thirteen and so on. But here's a thing. If a family was poor, they could get a year worth of grain and oil in exchange for an additional piece of name thrown into the pot with the names. A tesserae. And a person could take it for every family member. That's why, when I was only 12, I had already four entries. One because I had to, and three tesserae. Gilbert, who has to take care of a family of five has forty-two entries this year. In compression, a rich merchant kid who is eighteen, I don't remember his name I just know that he's a dick, has his name thrown only eight times, once for every year. It's not fair now, is it?

That's why it's easy to hate people like Matthew. They grew up in wealth and prosperity, not knowing what hardship or starvation is. Most of the town kids have healthy skin color, some of them are even slightly chubby, something people from Seam could never afford, no matter how hard we tried. Most of us are rather skinny. If we get to live, that is. Gilbert's and my family are fine, with the two of us hunting, but not every Seam family is that lucky. Some of them live on grain from tesserae only, which equals waiting for starvation. Even so, Gilbert knows he shouldn't have shouted at Matthew, I can see it on his face. The two of often discuss this topic in the woods. How the starving coal miners from Seam and well fed towns people are divided because of Capitol's unfair system. How tesserae is just another thing to keep us from trusting each other. And damn, is he right. Because of general hate from the poorer people, merchants started to detest us as well, call us names sometimes. I don't know too many rich people who think that they're better than us, at least not at school, but it's not such a rare occurrence among the adults. It's childish, really. And Gilbert is, too. What good is there about his rage outburst? They're pointless, childish. They don't make sense. His complains won't get us anywhere, won't take down these freak shows from the Capitol, won't make rich and poor friends. It'll only piss me off and we'll end up catching next to nothing. But I let him shout. I know better than anyone else that it's no good to bottle up everything in yourself. I just wish I could call everyone a bastard at least once. I mean, the people that I think that are bastards. Meaning everyone.

As we come to a halt, Gilbert divides our spoils in two. There's two fish for each of us, some bread, some salt, some greens, paraffin and a quarter of strawberries. Plus some money. Feliciano will be happy, I think. He likes strawberries and hopefully it'll brighten up his gloomy day.

"See you at two" I say, looking away.

"Yeah. Wear something sexy" he jokes, but I don't laugh. It's too close to reaping hour and I'm mad about Matthew. Besides the joke wasn't even funny.

At home I find my mother and Feli ready to go. My mother is dressed in her old outfit, a beautiful sunny dress from her apothecary days. It makes her look younger and more like the woman that I knew before father's death. Certainly prettier too. For a while I want to smile, but I quickly stop myself from doing so. Just because she's dressed properly and her hair is done doesn't mean she's back. Even if she were, I couldn't forgive her. Not for leaving me and Feli alone. That's right. Feliciano. My eyes stop on a boy standing next to mother. He's wearing my outfit from my first reaping. White buttoned-up shirt and patched, worn out trousers. We couldn't afford anything else, still I think it's nice. But it's clearly too big on him, because his shirt is sticking up from his pants, forming a little duck tail. Mother probably tried to make it less loose, but it was all she could do. It's not that surprising. Feli is slightly shorter and slimmer than I was that age.

I leave them to take a bath, a warm tub of water waiting for me. I wonder for a second who made it, Feli? Mother?, before I shrug and sunk into pleasant warm liquid. I scrub off the dirt and sweat from the woods, I even wash my hair. I don't do that often. No time and no water for that. When I get out from the tub, I head to the room. I was wondering what I should wear, but to my surprise mother has prepared everything. She laid out a nice suit that I immidietly recognize as dad's from his days as a teenager – his first present from mom. After my father's death, she kept it closed in the small closet.

"Are you sure?" I ask, turning back to look at her. She's standing at the door, smiling uncertainly. She's came back to us in recent months. She's tried to make up for the time she spent in her own world, trying to do a lot of things for me and Feliciano. But no matter what she tried, I only felt like rejecting her. I didn't want help from her, her pity, her kindness. I just couldn't afford to do that. And now she's laid out something very precious to her and dad, something from her past. Everything from her past was precious, very precious to her.

"Si, Certo. We should make your hair as well. Come here" she says in a gentle voice and just this one time I can't hate her. Because it's her voice from five years ago. It's her smile from five years ago. It's her kindness from five years ago. It's her from before the accident. The her that I didn't hate. Couldn't hate. She crosses the room and stands in front of me, drying my wet hair with a towel. Then she takes out a hairbrush and combs my hair gently, without pulling. Soon I can see myself in a mirror and I have to blink in surprise. I look good in the suit, but it's more about my hair. They weren't like that in a long time. Smooth and shiny. And my haircurl, which is usually more down and tangled, is standing out, as if showing my pride. It's the typical Vargas haircurl, dad said. He had one, too. Or more like he had a few of them, always sticking up in the weirdest of ways. No one had a curl like that, no one expect for our family. It was weird, but it made me proud. It showed that I'm my father's son. I haven't looked like one for a long time.

"Vee. You look very handsome, fratello. Like papà" Feliciano says in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, and like a freak from the Capitol. Does this suit look like me, Feli, or more like the show presenter from Capitol, the wicked Tino?" I ask, slipping into Capitol accent. He giggles, his eyes locking with mine. I smile, hugging him, because I know that cheering him up with words will be useless. This day is absolutely awful and stressing for him, I know. It's his first reaping. Of course he's pretty safe, because his name is in there only once. I'm taking the tesserae and there is no way I would let him take any. No, he's as safe as he can be. There is no way they could chose him from all the names, right?

But a part of me knows that he isn't afraid about his reaping, at least not so much. It's me that he's worried about. He knows that with twenty they might chose me. He's so innocent, so precious in every possible way. He's always been more worried about others than about himself. 'What if they'll catch you? What if something bad happens?' he'd say when I first started hunting. 'I can take tesserae too! Fratello, I don't want them to pick you!' he'd cry a week ago. Him being that way only makes me want to protect him more. He's the most important person on Earth for me right now. There is no one that could make me stop protecting him, not now, not ever. The mere thought of losing him, of letting him go to Hunger Games makes me terrified.

"Tuck in your tail, little duck, or others everyone will make fun of you" I choke out. Why the fuck do I feel like crying? Stupid, loveable Feli and his charm. He giggles agin, though, so I'm happy with the results.

"Quack!" I look at him with amusement, trying my hardest not to roll my eyes.

"Quack yourself, uccellino" I pinch his cheek with a laugh. It's amazing how quickly he can bring a smile to my face, really. "Come here, idiot. It's time to eat" he nods and follows me to the table. We don't eat much. Fish and greens are already cooking, preparing for an evening meal. Strawberries, too, will be for the evening, for our celebrations. Since no one is hungry, we just drink milk from Feliciano's goat, Amore, and try to read rough bread from tesserae grain. Like I said, try. We're all a little bit too nervous to stuff ourselves with food.

A little bit before one o'clock we head to the square. It's usually a very nice place, full with shops and kind people. Flashy words and amazing smells. Crowded but cozy. Yes, a very nice place. Well, not on the Reaping Day. The square is where they hold the entire 'ceremony'. Attendance is mandatory, too, unless you're on a verge of dying. If you aren't and they catch you, which they always do, you are a dead meat. Well, okay, only imprisoned. Which means that you're pretty fucking much screwed anyway. Death would be better.

With time more and more people fill in on the square, signing up. The children from the age of 12 to 18 line up in groups of their age, the oldest ones, like Gilbert, in the front, the youngest, like Feli and Ludwig in the back. I'm two rows behind Gil, four in front of Feli. I just hope these two years pass quickly, so that I'll be the one standing in Gil's line. So that it'll be my last reaping. People older than eighteen and younger than twelve line up around the perimeter. I can see mother holding Lisa Beilschmidt's hand tightly. Our mothers, mine and Gilbert's, have been good friends for a long time. Our fathers were too. Next to Lisa I can see Vash, hugging Lili protectively. He's like Gilbert in a lot of ways. Annoying and overprotective. Funnily enough, he seems to dot on Lili only, not really caring about Ludwig – I really don't like that kid – or Gilbert. Among the people that actually do care about what will happen during the reaping, there are also people who gave up, stopped caring or already lost their precious ones in previous Hunger Games. There are also the shady bastards that are disgusting enough to make bets on who'll be chosen. Seam kid or merchant? What age? Will they cry? If I knew at least one fucker like that in person, I'd kill him right on the spot. They break the law but I'm not really one to talk. I could be shot on daily basis for hunting. I still think a bullet in the head is better than starvation though. Quicker and less painful.

I can feel myself get a claustrophobic feeling as more people arrive. The square might be quite big, but it's not nearly big enough to hold whole population of District 12. There are around eight fucking thousands of us here, for God's sake.

I look around. I'm surrounded by other sixteens' from twelve. I can easily notice Matthew. He seems to be shining next to that kid from Seam. We all exchange a curt nod. Was it supposed to encourage us? I don't know. We all just simply do it, every year, every line. I turn around trying to spot Feli, but I can't. There are too many people. I focus on the stage in front of the Justice Building instead. There are three chairs, a podium and two large glass balls. The ball on the right holds twenty pieces of paper with my name on it, and one with Feliciano's. Twenty eight years ago the ball on the right contained the girls' names, the one on the left the boys' names. However, twenty years ago a lot of women have died. 70% of the civilization in Panem were men. Because of that the president of this corrupted country, "Prissy Idiot" as Gilbert liked to call him, changed the rules. Ever since twenty years ago, the names in two balls were divided into the surnames from A to M (the left ball) and from N to Z (the right ball). Unless there were two volunteers. Then there could be two people from the same ball. And if there was only one, they ended up asking the tribute whether he or she wanted to mix all the names in one bowl or let the other tribute be from the other bowl. The answer usually was "I don't care".

Two of the three sits are filled in with Matthew's father, Mayor Williams, and District 12's escort, Feliks Łukasiewicz, fresh from the Crazyland with blond hair with pink strands and scary grin. He's as weird as every year. The two of them whisper to each other, looking at the empty chair with concern. I can't help a smirk creeping up on my face. I know exactly who and why is missing.

Carlos Maceo Covada is twelve's only alive victor. He won the fiftieth Hunger Games. It was twenty four year ago. I think that this old bastard is around forty now. I don't really know how he's won exactly and I can't say that I care. Watching the Games every year is awful enough, there is no one in twelve who would willingly re-watch this inhuman event, no matter from which year, even if it was the year of 12's 'victory'. Many don't even call it a victory, because what is there to celebrate? During the fiftieth Hunger Games, not two but four tributes were chosen from each district. So really, what is there to celebrate? We had one victor, but three people died. Only ones who found it entertaining were people from Capitol.

I watched the Mayor rise from his sit and stumble to the podium. He begins telling the history of our country. It's always like that, every year. And every year I can't help but think that it's all a load of crap. How much truth is in the story they're telling us? It's hard to say, but I bet more than half of it is made up. Huge, merciless war destroyed the place once known as North America. In its' place Panem was born. Beautiful, ideal Panem, divided into thirteen districts. Everyone wanted to live here, because it was so peaceful, so perfect, before the Dark Days came. That's when the greedy districts rebelled against the most gracious Capitol. Rebellion that came seventy four years ago. The districts lost, twelve of them were simply defeated, the thirteenth, the one which started the rebellion, destroyed. To prevent new revolutions, Capitol decided to punish the remaining district, as if showing of that they own us. This punishment was Hunger Games.

The rules in the Games are easy. Every district has to send two tributes from twelve to eighteen years old to the Capitol. There they train before going to the area, which can be a desert, a forest or frozen wasteland. The last rule is simple. Everyone must die, for there is only one person who will stand a victor. Hunger Games are just a bloodbath, where children kill each other for Capitol's sick entertainment. The punishment for uprising.

To humiliate us more, Panem's president and other 'important' jackasses made it an event, something like a carnival, a good fun. Watching it is mandatory, citizens are supposed to be happy and cheer on their tributes, wish others death. That's what they're expecting from us. They made it clear that the victor should be enough to pay us for watching this thing. The victors get to live in luxury and ease for the rest of their lives, with food supplied to the winning district for the whole year, while other districts battle starvation. There is a 'Victors' village' in every district. That's where old Maceo lives.

As Mayor begins to read the names of our victors, our only alive one staggers on the stage and with a thud falls on the empty chair. I suppress a snicker. He's drunk, like always. There isn't a single day when he's sober, at least I've never seen him like that. Always tipsy. He's a reason why 12 is a laughing stock of the whole Panem – Mayor Williams must understand it, too, because he looks like he wants to burn from embarrassment and slap Maceo – but he's also the most enjoyable thing during the reaping. It's funny how a bastard like him can easily get on Panem's nerves. I try to suppress a smile when I see how he's trying to hug Feliks Łukasiewicz, who crunches his nose in disgust. Hilarious and pitiful, these guys from the Capitol. Mayor Williams tries to save the day and introduces the blond weirdo – as if we didn't already know the irritating guy – and the reaping begins.

Feliks hurries to the stage, as hyper as ever "Happy Hunger Games, skarbeczki! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" he giggles, looking around. I suppress a shiver when our eyes meet. He starts blabbering about how he likes to be here, in 12, and that it's, like, an honor. It's a lie, obviously. He hates this district and Carlos.

I start to feel nervous again, which is utterly stupid. There's no way they'd pick me, there are thousand slips in these balls, there's no way they'd pick me. My eyes lock with Gilbert's crimson, and I blink in surprise. He's grinning, like always, and I can see him mouthing 'I'm awesome'. I roll my eyes, sending him a small smile as a reward. But then I realize that there are forty-two slips of paper with his name in the first ball, and I'm worried. Because these numbers are not in his favor at all. His grin fades and I know that he's thinking about me as well. We break our eye contact.

Feliks goes to the ball on the right. Unlike most of the districts, we never start with A-M letters. We start with N-Z. Feliks said it's because his good friend's name starts with N and that it's a pleasant reminder. It makes no sense, but then again, not much of Capitol crap does. As he gets to the ball, his pale hand digs in the papers and pulls one out. The people around me don't breath, and I realize that I'm not breathing either. I stare at the little paper in his hand and thing desperately: Please, only not me, only not me, only not fucking me.

Feliks crosses back to the podium, the already smothered piece of paper in his hand. He smiles and brings the fateful near his eyes. He opens his mouth. I manage one more: Please, don't let it be me; in my mind, before words leave blond's lips.

It's not me.

It's Feliciano Vargas.

Fratellino – It. 'little brother'

Si, Certo – It. 'Yes, of course'

Uccellino – It 'little bird'

Skarbeczki – Pol. 'darlings'

Lovino Vargas (South Italy) as Katniss Everdeen

Feliciano Vargas (North Italy) as Primrose Everdeen

Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia) as Gale Hawthorne

Carlos Maceo Cavada (Cuba) as Haymitch Abernathy

Alice Vargas (OC purposely for this fic) as Mrs. Everdeen

Romulus Vargas (Ancient Rome) as Mr. Everdeen

Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany) as Rory Hawthorne

Vash (Zwingli) Beilschmidt (Switzerland) as Vick Hawthorne

Lili (Zwingli) Beilschmidt (Liechtenstein) as Posy Hawthorne

Lisa Beilschmidt (OC purposely for this fic) as Hazelle Hawthorne

Regis Beilschmidt (Germania) as Mr. Hawthorne

Matthew Williams (Canada) as Madge Undersee

Mayor Williams (OC purposely for this fic) as Mayor Undersee

Feliks Łukasiewicz (Poland) as Effie Trinket

Heracles Karpusi (Greece) as Greasy Sae

XXXXX (YYYY) as President Coriolanus Snow – it's a secret~

Cuba's name:

First name; Carlos [Carlos Manuel de Céspedes] - Cuban planter who freed his slaves and made the declaration of Cuban independence in 1868 which started the Ten Years' War.

First last name; Maceo [Antonio Maceo Grajales] - second-in-command of the Cuban Army of Independence.

Second last name; Cavada [Federico Fernández Cavada] - Commander-in-Chief of all the Cuban forces during Ten Year War for independence


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the Hunger Games

Chapter 2: Tributes

When I was younger, still only beginning my hunting life, I fell out of a tree while waiting for a deer to come to a better view. I was twelve, I think, and the pain I felt back then was the greatest I have ever experienced. Not as great as losing my father, but it was pretty awful as well. The tree was about ten feet tall and when I hit the ground, the impact was too great. All the air I had in my lungs left me and I couldn't breathe for few minutes. I just laid there, motionless and surrounded with pain, trying my best to inhale and exhale, to live.

This experience from four years ago is what I feel now. I'm not sure if I'm breathing. Am I? I try to speak, I open my mouth, but no words come out. My vision gets blurry and I think I stumbled pathetically, because a bastard from the Seam caught me just now. He looks at me worriedly, and I'm not sure why. What happened? What is going on? There's ringing in my head, some furious voice but I'm not sure what it's trying to tell me.

Then my eyes focus on one point, Feliks, and I remember. Feli. It's impossible, I think. Absolutely impossible, surreal, stupid! Feliciano had one entry. One, no more. His name was there once, one of the thousands. I've done everything I could for him. I took tesserae, I said he couldn't take any. He shouldn't be chosen. There was no way he would be. The odds were in his favor like no one else's. He's twelve. It doesn't really matter though, does it?

People murmur to each other, glancing with irritation at Feliks. They always do it when a twelve year old, be it from our district or some other, is chosen. I squint my eyes, and I can see him. His face, his beautiful, innocent, young face is paper white, his always smiling lips pressed into a thin line. I can see his fists clenched as he avoids Ludwig's gaze. Gilbert's little brother, that little annoying bastard, tried to stop him, he's shouting something. But Feli just shakes his head and walks stiffly. I can see his shirt sticking out, forming a duck tail. It's the thing that makes me realize that my baby brother was chosen for Hunger Games. My precious, innocent little brother. Cute Feli in the Hunger Games. It's that thought that brings me back to senses.

"Feli!" I scream, my voice surely so unlike me, so full of emotions that I try so hard to hide. "Feliciano!" I yell again. I'm running now. I don't have to struggle through the crowd; the other kids are making way for me. I think that maybe I should thank them for that later, but right now there's only Feli. I approach him right before he can begin to climb the steps to the podium, to Feliks. He's staring at me, eyes filled with horror, face drained from blood. Without hesitation I shove him behind my back with one fast movement. He's trembling.

"I volunteer!" I scream again, looking into Feliks' surprised, green eyes. "I volunteer as a tribute," I repeat, more calmly. My heart is beating like crazy but it doesn't matter. I've volunteered. Feliciano is safe now. He'll be alright.

The Mayor and that dumb Feliks are clearly confused by my action. I don't think District 12 has ever had a volunteer, and if we had it was probably a long time ago. The protocol about volunteering has probably became very rusty and really not worth an opinion. Generally, in 12 anyone from twelve to eighteen can volunteer as long as the name has been read and the chosen tribute hasn't climbed the steps to the podium. Of course in other districts, like 1, 2 and 4 taking part in the Games is an honor and a lot of people want to participate. Volunteering is more complicated there, I think. I'm not really sure and I can't say I care. I always thought that whoever went to the Games just because they wanted to was either mad or stupid. Dying for the sake of glory? That's dumb. But lives in, say, 2 are much better than here. They don't suffer from starvation, I heard. However in 12, people who are willing to risk their lives are rare. Nonexistent. Extinct.

"Lovely!" Feliks' high pitched voice is a proof that the commotion is dying down a little. Great. I forgot that I'll have to be with this stuck up guy for the whole ride to Capitol. "But… I think there were some protocols that we, like, um… had to make a reaping winner, like, introduce himself and then ask for volunteers…?" The way he ended his speech sounded like he isn't too sure himself. Fan-fucking-tastic, really. He's an idiot, I think.

"Does this really matter?" Mayor William's voice is full of agony. He's looking at me with pained expression. We don't really know each other, but I think he knows. He knows that I'm the weird boy that sells him strawberries. The hunting kid that sometimes speaks to his son, to half-invisible Matthew. Does he realize that now he can only count on Gilbert to bring him his favorite little fruits? He must. Why would he look so sad otherwise? Is he pitying me? I hate it, when someone pities me. It makes me feel weak. Or maybe… does he remember when I was hugging tightly my mother and Feli on that day, when dad was killed in mine explosion? Or when he awarded me with a medal of valor, given to the oldest child? Does he remember that?

"Does it matter?" he repeats gloomily. His eyes lock with mine for a second and a new flash of pain crosses his blue eyes. "Let him come forward."

I try to move, but Feliciano is holding me with surprising strength, his skinny arms wrapped around my middle tightly. He's screaming and crying, I can tell from his voice. "No! No, fratello, no! No, you can't! You can't go!" He's pulling me and it's upsetting.

"Let go, Feli!" I say, maybe a bit too harshly because his sobbing gets worse. But because he's clinging to me like that, I'm scared and feel like crying. And if I cried it would be fucking terrible. Other tributes who are going to watch the replay of the reaping will surely take notice of my tears. Crying means that you're weak. It makes you an easy target. I won't let these idiots have this satisfaction. I won't look like a weakling from twelve. There's no fucking way I will. "I said let go!"

Slowly Feliciano's pulling weakens. Someone pulled him off. I turn around slightly and notice my little brother thrashing in Gilbert's strong arms. There he goes again, helping me. Our eyes lock and I find it harder to resist crying than a few moments ago. His crimson eyes are dead serious and filled with pain. I can see unshed tears and it hurts. Much more than it should, really.

"Up you go, Domino" his voice, a mere whisper, makes me feel awful. As if someone stabbed my heart over and over again. I nod, pressing my lips tightly in a thin line. He cracks something akin to a smile and carries Feli off, perhaps to my mother. I watch them for a while before I start climbing the steps.

"Oh my, oh my! Like, congratulations, sweetie~!" Feliks sickeningly sweet voice doesn't even make me mad anymore. It's easy to tell that he's pleased to get a district where some action is finally going on. Can't blame him for that, I guess. He's a retard, sí, but he's just doing his fucking job. "What's your name, skarbie?" the last word sounds like some stupid pet name and I wonder if it's normal for Capitol people.

"Lovino Vargas," I say, looking at my folded hands. Feliks whistles. I wonder if he's surprised. Volunteering for siblings or other family isn't really a common action. During the reaping family ties aren't so important. On this day, you just think of yourself. Not others. Your life is the most important. Sure, it's a shame if someone from your dearest is chosen, but it can't be helped. They had bad luck. You were lucky. It's that simple.

"I can bet my fabulous pony that he was your little brother," Feliks says, but I'm so down that I can't even think about how fucking ridiculous having a pony is. "Don't want him to steal all your glory, huh?" I glare at him but he isn't looking at me anymore. Instead he is grinning in ecstasy, his eyes scanning the people standing before us. "Okay, everybody! Let's give a big, big, big round of applause to our cute newest tribute!" Screw him. Screw him and the whole Capitol and whoever the fuck is in control. Me being called cute will most definitely do me no good.

I'm proud of this district. Of the people living here. We might not be the richest or the bravest, but the people standing in front of me are protesting, right here and right now. Not a single person is clapping or cheering, not even the most uncaring assholes. It might be because these 'assholes' know me from the Hob or know that I'm the little brat that always tagged along after the great Romulus Vargas. Maybe it's because they remember that I'm Feli's older brother. Everyone loves Feliciano so they ought to remember someone who protected him for all these years. Or maybe not, who knows. The important thing is they aren't clapping. They're just standing there in silence, looking at me with grief. Funny. Those are the same people that either joked around with me, bought stuff from me or simply ridiculed me. Well I guess that what Gilbert said was indeed the truth. They're more sympathetic today. I'm a little moved. They aren't applauding like Feliks asked them to. It shows that we disagree with Capitol's policy. It shows we can think for ourselves, it shows that we aren't their chess pieces.

I think that these stupid people are stirring some weird emotion in me. But when they do the next thing, I think I'm about to cry. At first one person, then the other, then the next one and soon the whole crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It's an old gesture here, in District 12. We make it when we're saying 'farewell' to our loved ones. It's sometimes used in the funerals, but personally I haven't witnessed one, not on such a big scale. It means 'thank you', it means that someone adores you, it means goodbye to someone you love. Farewell. They're saying goodbye to me.

I'm ready to cry right now, and it's pathetic and it'll make me look weak, but it's all these stupid people's fault. I can feel tears gathering in my eyes, but thankfully Carlos comes to my rescue. Or, well, staggers across the stage to congratulate me. Soon his arm – unexpectedly muscular for a drunkard like him – is wrapped around my shoulder. I have to fight off the urge to punch that bastard straight in the face.

"Look at that kid. Look at that crazy boy!" Now I'm seriously considering punching him. No one calls Lovino Vargas a kid, unless his name's Romulus Vargas. Plus his breath reeks of alcohol. "I like him!" I could care-fucking-less even if you didn't like me, you fucktard, I think. His eyes look straight into mine and I shiver unpleasantly.

"He's got… lotsa…" he looks lost and I think that maybe he forgot how to speak, because his mouth hangs open stupidly "Spunk! Yeah, spunk, that kid" well, at least he knows what he's talking about. Though I'm not sure I've got 'spunk' or whatever. It was for Feli's sake only. "More than you!" he shouts near my ear and it hurts. He's pointing at a camera.

"More than you!" Who is he talking to? The Capitol? Other tributes? Both of them? I don't know. I don't know and I probably never will, because he's taking a few more steps and he trips on nothing, falling off from the stage. Great. Twelve must be a laughing stock of all of Panem again.

But strangely, I don't mind. I don't even feel like crying anymore. Carlos is disgusting and annoying as hell, but I'm grateful for what he did. It was pointless, really, but it was nice to hear that. I don't smile, but I feel much better right now. I put my hands behind me back and stare off into the distance. There are the hills that Gil and I have climbed on this morning. The woods, where the two of us have discussed running away from here. If we had, I wonder how it would be? Would we manage to live there? Me, Gil, our siblings and mothers? Would Gilbert and I become something like a married couple? Would we have children? Would we find someplace safe? The woods, they seem so distant right now. I regret not looking at them more carefully this morning. This was my last time seeing them after all. My nearly carefree life… it was good, I think.

I can see some men taking Carlos away on a stretcher, and then Feliks Łukasiewicz trying to get the ball rolling again.

"It's, like, such an exciting day!" he chirps, smiling. It's so fake, seriously. Can't that pink bastard do better? "But, skarbeczki, it's only half of the fun! We still have to, like, chose the second tribute! Lovino, dear, the same or the other jar?" he asks me, grinning madly. It's sickening.

I focus on the question though. I could always just say that I don't care, that we should get it over with. But it's not that easy. In the other jar, there are forty-two slips of paper with 'Gilbert Beilschmidt' written on them. There's a great chance that my friend would be chosen and that would be a disaster. He has to feed our families, he has to! But then, in the same jar, Feliciano's name is back to the pool. Feliks might pull it out again. And who'll volunteer for him then? I take a deep breath.

"The other jar" I say and I regret it momentarily. There are forty-two Gilbert Beilschmidt's in this ball. He's going to be chosen. I know he is. What have I done?

"Great!" Feliks' smile widens as he crosses the podium to the ball. His hand dives in, and before I can wish my best friend luck for the last time, his squeaky voice announces "Antonio Fernández Carriedo!"

Antonio Fernández Carriedo!

The Tomato Bastard!

Oh no, no, no! Anyone but him, please! Anyone will do, I think. I don't know him personally, but I know that name all too well. Antonio Fernández Carriedo, that stupid, pitiful tomato bread bastard!

Who thought of a stupid catch phrase like 'And may the odds be ever in your favor?" They are not in my favor today at all. I watch as he climbs the steps slowly. He's handsome, I can't deny him that, but his looks make him look like a Seam kid. Tall and quite well-built. Tanned skin. Curly chocolate brown hair that look as if he haven't combed them in ages. His eyes, a piercing and intense green, hold alarm in them. But they're merchant, these eyes. They are. He's like a half between a Seam and a merchant. He's what I was supposed to look like, I guess. I'm glad I took after my father though. At least I got used to living in danger. He… he looks like shocked. I can see that he's trying to pretend to remain emotionless, not scared, but it's not working very well. Still, he's climbing these steps and soon he's standing next to Feliks. The Capitol man then asks for volunteers, but there is no one willing to take Fernández's place. He has an older brother and a sister, if I remember correctly. One of them is too old already, the brother, I think, and the sister simply won't volunteer. Why would she sacrifice her life for a child like Antonio? I think it's her last reaping this year.

Mayor Williams goes to the podium and reads the long and boring Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point. I think it's mandatory, but I'm not listening to it. I know it anyway. I can't help wondering why him, why the boy with tomato bread? I try to convince myself that it doesn't matter. Maybe it really doesn't. We aren't friends, Antonio Fernández Carriedo and I. No, that's too stupid to even consider. He's not my neighbor, being from the merchant part of the district. We aren't even acquaintances. I haven't talked with him in the past, not even once. The only real interaction that's happened between us was years ago and I really doubt he remembers that. Who would? But I haven't and I won't. I just know this memory will follow me till my death, which seems quite near right now, actually.

I met Antonio during the worst time in my life. It'd happened three months after my father's death in a mine explosion, three months after the bitterest, bloodiest and painful January of my life. For the first two weeks after his death I was completely numb and didn't respond to anything mine related. I didn't hear, didn't feel. After three months, the biggest numbness left me, but the tears wouldn't. I'd have times when I'd just stop suddenly, fall on my knees and start crying, calling out my father's name in my mind. 'Where are you?' 'Why did you have to go?' I would ask, waiting for his answer. It never came, but I kept asking, kept crying, kept wishing. I was completely worthless at that time. And hungry.

We have received a small amount of money from the district. It was enough to cover one month of grieving. A whole month. In that period of time, my mother was expected to snap out of pain and find a job to provide herself, me and my brother with food. But she didn't. She didn't get a job and she didn't snap out of her trance. Mostly she'd just lay down and cover herself with blankets, not responding to anything me or Feli would say. Sometimes she'd just sit in a chair all day long, staring at the wall. She wasn't even crying. Just staring. There were times when she's stir and even get up, ready to go somewhere, before collapsing back into her own tiny world. Feliciano, who was only seven back then, pleaded and pleaded her to come back. To talk. To respond. To feed us. She didn't. And I can never forgive her for that.

At that time I was completely and utterly terrified. Even though I can understand now that my mother was consumed by sadness and grief, that she'd locked herself off in her own little world to escape the pain and reality – my eleven year old self didn't know that. I just knew that I lost my father in a mine explosion, and for some reason my mother too. Because she wouldn't respond neither to me nor to Feli anymore and we had to force her to eat, because otherwise she would starve to death. My mother, who was like a lifeless puppet five years ago, was as good as dead to me back then. I was scared, very scared. Because I knew that the burdens were all on my shoulders from that day. I had become the head of the family and I had to take care of all the living needs that we had. Feliciano and I needed to look presentable, because were there something else and someone would find out that our mother doesn't care about us anymore, we'd be taken to Community House for sure. I've seen children from there. They attended my school and, to tell the truth, seeing them wasn't pleasant at all. Their eyes were dull and full of sadness. They reminded me of my mother's and it made me want to scream. They had marks of angry hands on their thin faces, and I'm not sure if they were beaten, if they did that to themselves or fought with each other. And their postures. The hopelessness curled their shoulders forward. It looked like they were trying to make a shell with their shoulders, trying to hide from the world. The Community House that seemed like a place full of depression, desperateness, resignation, pain and anger… there's no way I could let my little brother go to the place like that. To cute little Feli, who cried when I cried. Stupid idiot didn't even know why I'm crying and he didn't hesitate at all to cry with me. The little idiot that combed mother's hair every day before we left for school, the little idiot that cleaned father's shaving mirror from coal dust every evening, because he couldn't stand it being so dusty. Little Feliciano that hugged me tightly, refusing to let go. My baby brother that would kiss my cheek goodnight and ask me to sing him lullabies sometimes, because he had problems with sleeping. Sweet, innocent Feliciano, who cared for others much more than for himself. Going to the Community House would crush him completely, there wouldn't be even a trace left of my fratellino. So I kept our predicament a secret. I went out to buy us food with the money we had and I made sure to keep my mouth shut, with answers prepared beforehand in case someone asked about mother.

But soon the money ran out and we were starving to death. I kept thinking to myself that there are only few weeks left before May 8th. May 8th, the day I would turn twelve. The day I could sign up for tesserae and get precious grain and oil to keep our family alive. But there were still a few weeks and we were already having problems with our hunger. The possibility that we'd be still alive by then were thin. Not non-existent, but definitely very thin.

If we ended up starving to death, we'd be just three of many. Starvation is common in District Twelve. There are so many victims. People that are too old to work, with little money of them. Children from big families, where there are simply too many to feed. The ones injured in the mines. The pregnant women who lost their husbands, and can't work themselves due to pregnancy. You see a lot of these people, straggling through the streets. Sometimes they just sit, motionless, against a wall. Some of them have their eyes open. Others lay in the Meadow, thin and dirty. Some die at their houses. I can hear them wailing from my home sometimes. They scream for a few minutes before it's completely silent. Then the Peacekeepers come to collect the body. They never say that starvation is the cause though. No, that would make Panem look bad. It's the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. Never starvation. But that fools no one. We all know.

When I met Antonio Fernández Carriedo there was a heavy downpour. The rain felt incredibly cold and sharp. I could almost feel pain when a single raindrop hit my skin. The rain was almost like million knives, cutting my skin, leaving me surrounded by danger with no way of escaping. Just like hunger that I felt, the pain that I could almost feel was there as well, real and frightening. I had been in town, trying to sell some of Feliciano's baby clothes. He grew out of them and since he was the youngest, we had no use for them. I've heard of families where some of the children wear their grandparents clothing, but I doubted we'd have similar worries. Besides back then the only thing that mattered was that we were starving. Future and children didn't matter. The only future these clothes – old, dirty – could face was selling. I was slightly frightened, since the Hob seemed very frightening to my eleven year old self. I was there only with my father a few times, but never alone. Since I was a brat, people ignored me. No one wanted Feli's baby clothes. I stayed there shivering, in the rain, my father's jacked completely soaked, waiting helplessly. I felt like crying. I was cold. We hadn't had anything to eat for three days, living on boiled water with old and dried mint leaves only. I found them in the back of a cupboard, some of them completely crushed. The hunger left me weak and my shaking got so bad, I dropped the clothes in the mud puddle. I didn't pick them up, too afraid that if I would, I'd just keel over. Fall on my knees and not be able to stand up. And it's not like anyone wanted the clothes. I hadn't sold them. I failed. I couldn't get money, couldn't get food. I couldn't go home. Because mother was there, waiting for something with her dead eyes. Feliciano would greet me with a smile, but seeing his hollow cheeks and cracked lips would just hurt more. And the room. I couldn't walk in there. It was smoky from the dried branches I've gathered near the woods. It was suffocating.

I started stumbling behind the shops that serve the wealthiest of Twelve's people. The merchants live in the same place where they do their business. They live above, one floor higher. My home had only one floor, so it always made me wonder how living in a two-floor house was like. Snobbish, I suppose. I remember seeing garden beds, not yet planted for the spring. There were some goats here and there, a dog tied to a pole in some of them. So easy to steal, I thought.

Stealing in District 12 is completely forbidden. There's a death sentence waiting for you for stealing the littlest of things. Then I noticed a trash bin and a small flame of hope lit inside me. Taking leftovers from the trash bins was not considered stealing, it was fair game. There was no one desperate enough to take these, no one but my family. Maybe a bone with some meat left at the butcher's or some rotten vegetables at grocer's. Those would be nice. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied the day before. And with that, my last hope was burnt down.

When I passed the baker's, the overwhelming smell of fresh and delicious bread hit my nose with an amazing force. The ovens were in the back, I think. I could see a golden glow of light coming from the bakery's open doors. I stopped walking and stood there, gaping at the heat and aromatic smell for a while, letting myself fly away, before rain's icy fingers running down my back brought me back to reality. I shook my head and walked shakily towards the bakery's trash bin. When I lifted the lid, I could feel my heart sinking. It was completely, heartlessly bare. There was nothing.

Suddenly a high-pitched voice was yelling at me and I looked up to notice baker's wife. She was a pretty woman with sharp features. Her blonde hair was tied into a tight bun, making her look rather scary. Her piercing green eyes were glaring at me as she kept on screaming insults, shouting that if I didn't leave she'll call the Peacekeepers and that she was tired of the Seam brats trying to snatch something from her trash. She kept on calling the Seam kids disgusting and I had no response. I only blinked and hurriedly put the lid back, backing away. And then I noticed him, a boy with chocolate brown hair. He was standing by his mother, his eyes were identical to hers, just a little bit warmer and more alluring. I'd seen him at school. He was one year older than me, but I didn't have the slightest idea what his name might be. He was merchant so he hung out with the city boys. Seam was, after all, no good for rich brats. So how was I supposed to know his name? It wasn't even important anyway. His mother went back inside, but I could feel his gaze on me as I made my way to an old apple tree. I inhaled deeply and sunk, sitting on the muddy ground as realization struck me. I had nothing to take back home. No food for Feli, no food for me, no food for mother, nothing. Even if I went home, Feliciano would just smile but his eyes would be screaming at me to get him something to eat. Or maybe it was my imagination. I don't know. I just wished that baker's wife would actually call the Peacekeepers and they'd take me and Feli to community home and we'd get food. Or better yet, maybe I'd be lucky enough to die there.

I just wanted to close my eyes, but the clatter inside the bakery prevented me from doing so. I heard that witch, yelling something and then some more noise. I vaguely wondered what was going on before I heard feet splashing on the mud and my heartbeat quickened. It's her, I thought, she's coming to chase me away with a stick or a broom. But it wasn't her. It was her son. I could see two big loaves of bread in his arms. Their crusts were scorched black. They must have fallen into the oven or something like that.

I could hear the witch yelling at him, screaming that he might as well feed the bread to the pigs, because no one in their right minds would buy something so disgusting. How stupid, I thought. I would take it with a smile.

I watched as the boy made his way to the pig. He didn't even glance at me, but I kept on watching him. He looked well fed. Maybe not all that strong, but definitely healthier than me. That bastard might grow into a handsome man, I thought. It was unfair that half of us get to live while the other half has to die from starvation. I glanced at his face and furrowed my eyebrows. There was a red welt that stood out on his cheekbones. His mother must've hit him with something. Something big.

My parents had never hit me or Feliciano. I couldn't imagine father that loved us both so dearly or mother, who used to be so very kind and cheerful to hit us. They didn't even yell at us, rather they tried to explain to us that we've done wrong. I wonder how a mother could hit her own son with such strength.

The boy begat to tear of small chunks of burnt bread and throw them to the pig. I watched hungrily as every piece landed in a muddy ground. How unfair that even a pig gets to eat better than I. Better than Feliciano, who is thousands of times more precious than I am. The bell to the bakery rang and baker's wife disappeared inside the house. Her son quickly glanced at the door, as if checking if she really did go away and then turned to me. His gaze was so intense. I was too mesmerized by it to notice him throwing the first loaf of bread right away. When I did, the second one was already lying next to it. My eyes stopped on the bread before I glanced at the boy suspiciously. He grinned widely, waved at me and run back inside the bakery, closing the door tightly behind him and leaving me completely dumbfounded.

I stared at the loaves in disbelief. Both of them looked perfectly and absolutely fine, expect for the burnt areas, that didn't really look too bad themselves. Did that bastard mean for me to have them? He must have, right? I stopped thinking about it and got up quickly, snatching the amazing breads under my shirt. I wrapped my father's hunting jacket tightly around myself and started running, trying not to think of the food that burnt my skin. I clung to the loaves as if my life depended on them. And perhaps it did, now that I think about it.

By the time I managed to reach my home, the bread had cooled down on the outside, but the insides were still very warm. And it still had this amazing smell around it. When I crossed our door and carefully placed both of the loaves on the table, Feliciano's hands reached to grab it, his brown eyes wide with surprise, happiness and hunger. I slapped his hand lightly and sending him a weak smile. He grinned back and nodded, going to bring our mother. Soon he returned, holding her hand. She looked as lifeless as ever, just like a puppet. I made both of them sit down and scrubbed off the burnt parts of the bread. I poured in some tea for all of us before slicing our precious meal carefully. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was amazing, that bread. I could taste delicious raisins and something I recognized as tomatoes. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten.

I put the clothes to dry at the fire and crawled in the bed with Feli. He was already sleeping with a blissful expression. I felt warm, seeing my brother like that. I don't know why, but I thought that we were definitely going to be fine. The bread gave me hope and I knew instantly that we're going to be fine. I saw a dandelion, the first one this year. Looking at it, then at my father's photo and his jacket helped me, I guess. The woods. This is how we survived up until dad's death. We hunted in the woods. And he might be gone, but I was still there. I would hunt our food and I'd keep Feli and mother alive. I kissed Feli's forehead and fell asleep. The night was dreamless. It's been a long time.

When I woke up the next morning it occurred to me. That the boy might have burnt the bread on purpose. He wanted me to have it, he wanted to help me. He knew he'd be punished but he still did that. The second he left the bakery he knew he'd throw these loaves to me. Actually I think it's impossible. He didn't even know me. He had no reasons to do something like that. But he had done it, an annoying voice in my head would whisper. It was kind of him; he's done something no one would dare to do. Surely he knew that if his mother found out about him giving me these breads he'd be hit. I can't explain his actions.

For breakfast we ate slices of bread and then Feli and I headed off to school. I could feel spring in the air. It was so warm and the clouds seemed to be fluffy. The sun was shining brightly and the birds were chirping. It was like a whole new world compared to the day before, I thought. At school, I passed the boy from the bakery. He didn't even acknowledge me and I deemed him a worthless bastard instantly. Annoying, rich prick. I noticed that his cheek swelled up and his eye blackened though. As I collected Feli and got ready to head home, I caught him staring at me with his intense eyes. He turned away quickly. With annoyance I found myself blushing, so I gazed at the floor instead. What the heck?, I thought. How dare he make me blush? I risked a last glance and blushed deeper, noticing him staring at me with a smile. Fucking bastard. What was his deal anyway?

To this day I can never shake the connection between this boy, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, the most delicious bread that filled me with hope and the first dandelion of the year. And worse even, I often caught him staring at me at school, only to have him turn away quickly. Sometimes I still blushed, and it pisses me off. I feel like I owe him and there's nothing I hate more than owing something to someone. Well, with exception of Hunger Games and Capitol, of course. I think that if I thanked him at some point, maybe I wouldn't be so concerned about it. But there was never a chance to do that, because that moronic merchant bastard was always together with his jerky friends. And now? Now I'll never get to thank him. It would be pretty stupid. Saying 'thanks for that one time you saved my life, and now I'm going to kill you'. Yeah, pretty fucking peachy. I just love thanking people while I slit their throats.

Mayor Williams finally finishes that boring Treaty of Treason and motions for Antonio and me to shake hands. We turn to each other and he extends his hand. I catch it into mine. His hold is strong and warm, just like the bread his hands make. He gives me a reassuring squeeze, but maybe it's just my imagination that it was reassuring. Maybe that bastard was having a panic attack or something. It's a pity that I'll have to kill a person who can bake something as godly as the bread from over five years ago, I think as I stare into his eyes. They're dangerous, I decide. Because I like staring into them. That's dangerous.

Our hands separate and we turn to face the crowd. The anthem of Panem begins to play.

'Oh, well' I think, looking emotionlessly at the people in front of me. 'There are going to be twenty-four of us there. The odds are, some other bastard is probably going to slice him in two'.

Of course the odds haven't been very dependable as of late.

Antonio Fernández Carriedo (Spain) as Peeta Mellark

João Fernández Carriedo (OC Portugal) as Peeta's oldest brother

Isabella Fernández Carriedo (OC Ibiza) as Peeta's older brother

Sierra Carriedo Martinez (OC purposely for this fic) as Mrs. Mellark


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the Hunger Games

Chapter 3: On the way

Soon the anthem ends and we are taken into custody. I take a quick last glance from the podium, people standing down there looking somewhat smaller before I'm pushed forward. We're not handcuffed or anything like that, but a group of stupid Peacekeepers behind, in front and on our sides. They lead us to the door of the Justice Building, where we're going to wait. I don't know why the do all of that. Maybe some of the Tributes tried to escape in the past. I don't know. I don't remember something like that happening. Maybe it was before I was born.

Once we enter a room, they leave me alone and march out the way we came in. It's better that way, because they can't see how awed I am by everything I see. It's the richest place I've ever seen. There are thick, deep carpets sprawled across me. They're so warm, so ridiculously soft and 'fluffy', like Feli would say. The couch and the chairs are velvet. I know it's velvet, because mother's dresses' collars are made of this crap. I don't know what is so amazing about it. It's just a fabric, it's just a dress. Dress can't feed you, it can't free you from this corrupted, shitty world. It can only make you look pretty and it won't be appreciated by most. But I still sit on a couch, and for a moment, let my fingers run over the fabric. It feels nice. Calming. I have to endure being here for another hour. An hour when everyone close to me will come and say goodbye. Mom. Feli. Gilbert. That should be all, shouldn't it? Maybe zia Lisa will come too. No. Perhaps she'll stay with these two stupid brats and Lili. I smile at the thought of that little girl. She's cute and very kind. She definitely took after her mother. Perhaps in the future she and Feliciano will get married. They're both so sweet and loving. They were made for each other. Unless her annoying older brother, that pokerfaced brat is going to take my precious little Feli as his husband. God forbid, I think, because having Ludwig Beilschmidt as an in-law would be simply too terrible. Thinking about all this makes me want to cry, because no matter who Feliciano choses, I won't be able to see it. How could I? I'm going out there, for the Hunger Games with an asshole from bakery. Little chance of surviving, I think. But I don't cry. I can't leave this room with puffy eyes, because there will be more cameras at the train station, and they would definitely see that I've cried. I'll look weak. It cannot happen, no matter what.

My brother and my mother come in first. As soon as they enter, I reach out to Feli and he climbs on my lap, throwing his thin arms around my neck and resting his head on my shoulder, just like when he was a toddler. He's shaking all over and it doesn't take long for his sobs to become loud and clear, his tears slowly dumping my reaping shirt. Mother sits beside me and warps her arms around us. She's suppressing tears and I'm glad that she is. I don't think I could stand watching her cry, both of them cry because of me, because I'm going to be dead by next month. We sit still for a moment before I start telling them all different things they must remember to do. Not some stilly stuff like "I'll be back", no, I can't tell them something I don't quite believe. At all.

Instead I tell Feliciano not to take tesserae, ever. I tell mother that they should be able to get by if they sell milk and cheese from Feliciano's goat. Also now, that mother has opened up an apothecary business for people of Seam it should be even easier for them. Gilbert will get her all the herbs she needs to do various medicine. But since he's an idiot, she should describe them really carefully and accurately, because otherwise he might bring her something poisonous. No matter how 'awesome' he claims to be, he's just a moron. But herbs won't be the only thing he'll deliver to them. He'll also bring them game and even though it'll be for free, they should give him something in return. Medicine or some milk. Because he's a family friend. Because he'll do all of that for them, for me. We made a pact a year ago. That if one of us goes arrivederci, the other shall provide his family with everything. Somehow we just knew that it would be one of us, someday. Be it in the Hunger Games, during hunting or in the future when we're both working in the mines. Guess it's happening now.

I don't even bother suggesting that Feli learns hunting. That would be stupid and pointless. There was a time when I tried to teach him and it was disastrous. He was anxious and terrified of the woods, and whenever I shot something, he ended up crying and murmuring nonsensical stuff about 'still being able to save the poor baby if we get there soon enough'. What was the point of hunting if you want to save your game from dying? Idiotic, really. I thought that not even my dumb little brother could be stupid enough to think like that. Clearly I was wrong. Hunting wasn't, isn't and won't be for him, ever. His place is not in the Games or killing animals. No, he's a sunshine, too pure and bright for dirty things like these. I want to protect him and his innocence. It is my duty as an older brother. And that I should do. He, on the other hand, should concentrate on his goat. Their brain size is similar anyway.

When I'm done with telling them about everything and ordering Feliciano to go to school regularly, I turn to face my mother and grip her arm tightly.

"Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" My voice is harsh, maybe a little too harsh, but I care less. She nods, clearly alarmed by my intensity. She knows what I'm going to say. She knows because even though she wants to cry, she's already doing what I'm about to order her "You can't leave again. Do you understand?" she looks at me, her warm eyes holding so much pain that I nearly want to hug her. But I don't. She's not forgiven, not yet, not until Feliciano's married happily with dozens of children with his pretty wife, or if heavens hate me that much, with moronic potato husband that could support him. Then she'll be forgiven. But not before that, no.

"I know, Lovino. I won't. I… I couldn't help what-"

"Well you better damn well help it now! You can't leave him alone. You can't! You can't just go back to your own little world. You must take care of him. I won't be there now. I won't be able to do that. All that's going to be left for Feli is you. Do you understand? You can't fade away. No matter what you see on the screen, no matter what fucking happens to me, you have to promise me. Promise me to go through it, to live on. Do you understand?!" my voice has risen to a shout, because I'm just so angry, so furious about last time.

"I was ill!" she shouts back, clearly angry herself now. I must have pulled a trigger. I must have stopped the line. I shouldn't have talked like that, not to my mother, but she isn't the mother I loved, the woman that dad loved. Not yet, she's not back yet, not fully. "If I had the medicine I have now, I would have cured myself. But I haven't!" the part about her being sick might be true. I've seen her bring in people that were suffering from immobilizing sadness, a lot of them. Perhaps it really, truly is a sickness. But it's not something we can afford. Not something she can afford.

"Then you better take it and live on. And take care of him." Feliciano takes my hand in his own. It's warm. I look at him carefully. He's stopped crying, but there are still fresh traces of tears on his smooth cheeks.

"I'll be alright, fratello" he says, leaning his forehead against mine "I'll be alright. I swear. But you'll have to promise to be safe too. That you'll try your best to come back. Maybe you can win" I can't. He must know it too, because his eyes are filled with sadness. Both of us know very well who I am going to face. Kids from richer districts, where winning the Games is everything, where it brings honor and fame will be there, prepared. There will be boys twice my size and girls who'll be able to kill me in twenty four different ways, using an ordinary knife. Of course there will be people like me, too. Easy to kill idiots, killed before real 'fun' could begin. Hopefully, I won't have to kill bread bastard.

"Maybe I can" I agree. It's unfair to tell my mother to carry on and be strong if I've already given up on myself. And I'm not the type of person who goes down without a fight. I'm a hot-headed, easily pissed off, grumpy hunter with an ability to kill. I'll probably keep on fighting even when I'm bleeding all over. Because otherwise it wouldn't be me. No one fucks with the Vargas, unless they've a death wish. At least that's what papà taught me "Then we'd be as rich as Carlos"

"I don't care if we're rich, Lovi!" he says childishly "I just want you to come home. You'll try, right? Really, really try?" he asks me, his hands squeezing my bigger ones tightly.

"Really, really try. I promise, Feli" I say and smile slightly. And I know that I'll really have to try. Because I promised him. And my promises to him were the most important thing in my life. I could never betray him. And then, suddenly, the Peacekeeper is at the door, ordering my family to go away, to leave right now. I kiss Feliciano's forehead, my mother's cheek and I realize that I don't want to leave her, that even though she's done so many wrong things, I love her. Feliciano's crying again and I find myself repeating "I love you. I love you both" to them. They're saying it back and then they're gone, taken away by the Peacekeeper. I hide my head in a velvet pillow, eyes squeezed shut. I bit my lip to stop the tears, stop the pain, because it finally sinks in. I probably won't see them again.

Someone else enters the room. Gilbert, I think. But then I slowly sit up and raise my head. It's not that moronic idiot. It's someone that I'm very surprised to see. It's the baker, Antonio Fernández Carriedo's father. I can't believe he's come to see me. What is he doing here? Why would he be here?! I can't see a reason why. After all, I'll be trying to kill his son soon. Sure, he knows me and Gil since we go and trade with him sometimes. He knows Feli even better, because whenever my fratellino goes to Hob to trade his goat cheese, he always keeps aside two for the baker. In return, he gives her generous amounts of bread. We trade with him only when his bitchy, witch of a wife isn't around, because he's so much nicer. And it occurs to me that Antonio perhaps took after him, because even though my fellow tribute is stupid, he's kind. I feel certain that the baker would never hit his son the way his wife did. Not over a burnt bread, not ever. But why would he come to see me? Sentiment?

The Baker sits awkwardly at the edge of one of the plush chairs. He's tall, big and broad-shouldered. He looks a lot like that stupid tomato bastard. Just… his hair is a lighter shade, his eyes are slightly duller and he's older, obviously. He has a lot of burn scars on his hands. I guess that's a given when you work for years near the ovens. He's depressed and it strikes me that he must have just said goodbye to his son. I feel something in my stomach tighten.

The baker pulls out a white package from his jacket pocket. Maybe it's a knife and he'll just kill me right now. It's a wishful thinking, but at least no one would see. But no. He holds the package out to me. I take it carefully, warily, and then open it. There are cookies inside. Cookies. These are the luxury my family could never afford.

"Thank you" I manage. I'm not used to these words. I hate saying them. Because I have no reason to thank anyone. I always had to work hard for everything, there wasn't anything for free, not ever. I've always earned it with my own bare hands. Why would I get used to thanking others if they've done nothing? And yet here he is, giving me cookies. He doesn't say a word. I'd rather not speak again either, but it's somehow impolite. "My friend, Gilbert, received a bread from you today. In exchange for a squirrel. It was delicious" he nods, as if remembering this morning.

"Not really your best trade, was it?" I ask and he just shrugs, smiling at me weakly. I want to admire him for that, because I would never be able to smile in a situation like that. I'm at loss of words, so I keep silent. We just sit there, staring at each other in an awkward silence before the Peacekeeper appears and summons the baker. As he gets up, he clears his throat and gives me the last smile.

"I'll make sure the little boy eats. So don't you worry about it, he won't starve. I won't let him" and with that, he was gone.

And I'm feeling lighthearted. People always had to deal with me, but they were fond of Feliciano. Maybe they were fond enough to feed him and help him get by. To share food with him. And I feel better. Because Feliciano will be okay. They will take care of him in my place. And I'm glad.

The next person that comes in is also unexpected. Matthew walks straight to me. He's not weepy or evasive, although there is evident sadness in his pretty eyes. He opens his mouth and I'm surprised at the urgency of his tone. It's not the quiet stutter I'm used to.

"Lovino. Every year, every tribute gets to wear one thing in the area brought from the district to represent their home. One thing to remind the tribute of the place they left and of the place that they come from. Will you wear this?" he holds out a circular golden pin in his pale hands. It was on his suit earlier. It's the pretty thing that could let me feed my family. I hadn't paid much attention to it before, but now that I take a closer look at it, it's a small bird in a flight. A mockingjay.

"Your pin?" I ask, trying not to think about the bird and what it means to me. What the heck is he even thinking about? The token from my district is just about the last thing on my mind. Can't he understand that I have more important stuff on my mind? Like, Feliciano.

"Here, come on, I'll pin it onto your shirt, okay? Just stay still" he doesn't wait for my answer. He moves in closer and starts fiddling with my white fabric. Soon the golden bird is pinned to my shirt, just above my heart. "Promise you'll wear it onto the arena, Lovino. Please. Promise?" he looks at me with these eyes and I can't disagree.

"Yes" I whisper, examining the pin once more. Cookies. A golden pin. I'm getting all kinds of gifts today. And Matt gives me one more. He leans in and places a kiss on my cheek. It's brief but lefts me fell warm. I can feel blush slowly creep onto my face and Matthew laughs, before tears flow down his cheeks.

"Try to survive. Try to come back. Don't leave us here" he squeezes my hand once more before he turns around and leaves. I stand there, string at the door and think that maybe Matthew really was my friend. That he still is. And that he doesn't want me dead. I don't have time to think about it, before the next person bursts through the door.

Gilbert is standing before me, his face somehow paler than I remember it. There is nothing romantic between us, but when he opens his arms, I just run into them without thinking. I feel so secure, so good and peaceful there. So safe. I'm familiar with his body. The way he moves, the way he smells, the way his heart beats loudly against his ribs. I know it all. But I'm not familiar with his body structure. It's well-muscled and lean and it feels like he'll protect me from everything, which is tragically pathetic, even for me.

"Listen" he says, and I nearly snort. I've heard and said it so many times today already, haven't I? "It should be pretty easy to get a knife, but what you really want is a bow, kiddo. You're awesome with a bow. It's your best chance. Got that? You gotta find one"

"You know they don't always have bows, jerk" the insult comes out naturally. I think back about the year where the tributes only had awful spiked maces. They had to bludgeon one another with it, till the other one died from the holes or blood lose. Or both. It was an awful, slow death. All of them screamed. Every single one.

"Then make one, you unawesome idiot. Even a weak one is better than none" it's easy for him to talk. He won't be the one there, fighting for life. No, no, I calm myself down. It's pointless to argue with him now. … okay, it's pathetic. I'm talking to myself in my head. Great. Seriously great.

"It's not that easy. Even my father made a lot of bows that were failures and you know damn well that he was thousands times better in this than I was. Besides we might not even fight in the woods. They might throw us wherever" there was a year where the tributes were send to a desert to fight. There was nothing but sand, rocks and some dried plants. It was an awful year. There was only one person that was older than fifteen and most of the tributes were either bitten by a venomous snake and died in agony, or they went mad from dehydration and just laid down, never to awaken again.

"There's almost always some wood" Gilbert insists. He hates it when I disagree with him. He thinks he's always right while he practically never is. I just hope this time he'll win our silly argument "Since that one unawesome year where most of the tributes died of the cold"

Oh yeah, I've forgotten about that. The year were there was only ice and the temperature was so low that the tributes froze to death before real fight, real 'fun' could even begin. I think seventeen were lost during the first night. These Games were the shortest. The Capitol people hated them very much, because such quiet, bloodless deaths were simply not entertaining at all. Since then, there was usually some wood to make fire at least.

"Yeah, there's usually some" his eyebrows furrow. He must have caught my emphasis on the word 'usually'. How sharp of him.

"Lovino, it's just hunting. There's no better hunter than you out there" I'm waiting for some snarky comment, that he's still better than me, but it never comes. Instead he's looking at me, his crimson eyes aflame.

"It's not just hunting, you stupid bastard. They're armed. They think. They want me dead"

"You're smarter than even my awesomeness! That makes you super smart. Lovino, you've had more practice. Real practice. You know how to kill" he says slowly, his eyes never looking away from mine. Crap. I can't look away either.

"Not people, Gil. Not people" he squeezes my shoulder.

"It can't be that different. You know it can't. They want you dead. Like wild animals. You can outsmart them, Lovino. You can kill them" I shake my head, not because I disagree, but because I'm awful. I know I can forget that they're people. It will be easy, killing them will be easier than finding water. As long as they want me dead, they're an enemy. They're my pray. And I'm awful, because I shouldn't think like that about other people. But I can't help it.

Soon the Peacekeepers come in and tell Gilbert to leave. He asks for a little bit more time, but they're pulling his arm. I grasp his right hand and press it to my cheek. I'm desperate to feel his warmth for the last time. But the Peacekeepers are pulling harder and I start to panic "Don't let them starve! I beg you!" it's not good at all, because I'm about to cry and I still can't.

"I won't! I won't, ever! I'll protect them, I swear! Lovino, remember I-" but I never get to hear what I'm supposed to remember, because they yank us apart and the door slam shut. And only then do I realize that I'm alone and that I'll stay that way. I won't see them again. I collapse on the coach, holding back my tears. I'm so fucking pathetic.

It's a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station. It's my first time in the car and it's not nearly as exciting as I thought it would. I've been in the wagons two times at most before, and the feeling was similar. Actually, I preferred our Seam way of travelling. On foot. It might not have been faster, but at least our feet weren't making that funny squeaky noise. I was right not to cry. The train station is full of these annoying reporters, trying to catch our faces. Some are directed straight at mine and it's unnerving. I just want to smash all of them. Maybe I could throw Feliks out the window and he'd hit them and break some of the cameras? That would be fun. Despite what's going on in my head, my face remains emotionless. The years of hunting taught me to get rid of emotions when they were unnecessary. And even when they were, for the good of the mankind, you shall not show how you truly feel inside. That's what I've always believed. So when I look at one of the big screens and see my face, I'm proud, because I actually look bored, so bored that I could fall asleep any second. Pretty much my usual expression when listening to Gil.

Antonio Fernández, on the other hand, has obviously been crying and isn't even trying to cover it up. Fucking suspicious. I wonder if it's strategy for the Games, if he's already started plotting and making preparations. Pretend to be weak and scared, try to look like an easy prey, when in reality you are anything but that. You're thrilled and bloodthirsty. It's happened a few years back with a girl from District Seven. She was crying the whole time, clutching onto her flower desperately. She seemed like such a coward, such a fool that no one bothered with her. Not till it was too late, till there were only a few of them left in the Games. Her behavior changed completely. She went absolutely nuts, swinging around whichever weapon she found. But she especially took a liking to that one thing. She hit her opponent with it till his or her skull broke, coloring the ground a bloody color. Elizaveta Héderváry and her deathly frying pan became legendary. Everyone associated blood with them and some people were afraid to use frying pans for quite a long time. She played it cleverly. But this strategy seems too weird for Antonio Fernández Carriedo, because he's the baker's son and something as clever as that seemed too intelligent for an idiotic, kindhearted bastard like him. But also, because he's the baker's son, his arms are broad and strong and it would take an awful lot of weeping to convince someone that you're weak and pathetic.

Feliks makes us stand in the door of the train for what feels like ages. All the cameras are flashing in my face and I wonder if cursing at everyone, on Panem, at Feliks, at stupid Capitol people and stupid Hunger Games and stupid Gilbert because I don't know what to remember and because just everyone in general is fucking stupid and annoying. But I guess I can't, so I just endure it and when it's finally over and the door shuts mercifully behind us, I curse silently under my breath, because it's too stressful to hold it in. The train starts moving and perhaps I heard wrongly because of all the noise, but it seemed like the tomato bread bastard laughed.

I try not to think about it, because I'm too busy being awe-struck like some moron. The speed takes my breath away. I've never been on a train, and I've never even gave it much thought. Travelling between Districts is forbidden expect for the officials that transport coal from 12. But this isn't a coal train. It's a much faster, high-speed Capitol model that averages 250 miles per hour. If we keep up this speed, our journey to the everlasting and glorious Capital will take less than a day.

In school, they tell us that the Capitol is in a place that people used to call the Rockies. Our district, District 12, is in the old region Appalachia. Apparently, even hundreds years ago they were digging coal there. No wonder our coal miners have to dig so deep. Bastards from centuries ago were being jerks.

Somehow, it all comes back to coal at school. Ever since I can remember I was learning about the coal. They teach us how to read – to read our orders -, they teach us basic math – to know how much exactly is 1 kilo and what we should do to make it two kilos – and a little bit of history of Panem. Which is all crap anyway, because they just keep telling us how much we owe the Capitol, how indebted to them we are. I always thought that there was something else to the rebellion, something that they weren't telling us because it just didn't seem complete, but I didn't think about it. It's not like it would fill up my stomach or make food appear on my food. Highly doubtful.

I thought that the room in Justice Building was fancy and sparkly, but what I have before my eyes is even more than that. We are each given our own chambers, which are huge, a dressing area that is full of clothes, all of them made from different material and in different colors, and a private bathroom with a shower. And the shower has both cold and hot water. It's something we don't have back home. We don't have hot water unless we boil it.

I walk into my chamber together with Feliks. He tells me that the drawers are filled with fine clothes and that I can wear whatever I want, as long as I'm ready for supper in an hour. When he leaves, I take off my father's suit and go into the bathroom to take a hot shower. I've never experienced something like that. It was like standing in the summer rain, only warmer and more pleasant. I like that feeling. When I finish my shower, I open one of the drawers. It's filled with fancy suits similar to my father's. I close it immidietly. I hate these kind of clothes. The third drawer is a success. Plain, dark green shirt and comfortable pants. That's more like it, I think before putting it on.

At the last minute I remember Matthew's present for me and take out a small pin from my previous jacket's pocket. It's as gold and shiny as ever. I take it in between two fingers and stare at it. A small golden bird, attached to the ring around it only by its' wings. I stare at the Mockingjay with mixed emotions.

They're funny birds and something like a cold shower and a slap in the face to the Capitol. During the rebellion, the Capitol made a new species of birds, called jabberjays. They were mutations that had the ability to memorize and repeat a whole human conversation, no matter how long it might have been. They were meant to be a weapon, exclusively male. Jabberjays were released into regions, where Capitol's enemies were known to be hiding. After recording the voices, the birds would fly back to their home and repeat the conversations to the higher ups. It took a while for people from the districts to realize, that no matter how private conversations, they could be easily recorded and turned against them. But once they did realize, the rebels started to have fun. They kept on feeding the Capitol with lies, sprouting the biggest nonsense one can possibly imagine. It pissed them off, so the centers were shut down and birds meant to die off in the wild. Just they didn't. They didn't die.

The jabberjays mated with female mockingbirds creating a whole new species. A Mockingjay. They could repeat any kind of song, whistle or human melody, but not conversation. They lost the ability to repeat the words, but they could still mimic human vocal cords. From high-pitched, child-like tone to a masculine growl. If someone had the patience to listen to them, they would sing a beautiful song that they've heard from someone, whose voice they liked.

My father was particularly fond of the mockingjays, just like they were fond of him. He'd often stop in the woods and start singing in his beautiful, clear and lively voice. All the mockingjays around us would freeze and listen to him and, when he'd already finish, they'd politely wait a few seconds before singing back, verse by verse. Not many people are treated like that. But my father had an amazing voice and I loved listening to him. Sometimes I'd join in with him, and we'd both laugh afterwards. But after his death I couldn't make myself do that anymore. Only sometimes for Feli when he'd cry, but not for fun, not for mockingjays.

I smile, looking at the pin. There's something comforting about it. It's like my father will be together with me out there, in the woods. Even when I'll be dying, I feel like he'll be there, telling me that I've done a great job and I've earned my rest. Death will be just that little bit less scary. He'll be protecting me, I think, and I almost want to hit myself, because I'm being cliché. I fasten the pin onto my shirt. With the dark green shirt as a background, I can almost imagine the mockingjay flying in between the trees.

Feliks comes in and pulls my hand and I wonder if he couldn't just tell me it's time to go. We walk through the rocking corridors, the Capitol man chattering to me about something pointless all the while. Then we enter a dining room and I can see the tomato bread bastard waiting for us near the polished table with all these breakable dishes. He looks up when we enter and sends me, or maybe Feliks, a bright smile and I instantly wonder if there's something wrong with his head.

"Where's Carlos?" Feliks asks brightly, taking a seat in front of Fernández and motioning for me to come over and sit next to my fellow tribute. I want to roll my eyes, but I don't. Instead I just sit down next to Antonio.

"He said he's going to take a nap" his voice is strangely happy. Definitely something wrong with his mind, I decide.

"Ah, well, it's been, like, an exhausting day so I guess it's fine" Capitol man says but I can hear relief in his voice, and his face brightens too. Who can blame him? Carlos is a weirdo.

The supper comes in courses. A tomato soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruits and vegetables and vanilla cake. I nearly devour everything that's on my plate, because I've never seen or eaten something as delicious. Feliks tells us not to overdo it, because there's still more to come, but I don't care. The soup is simply too good. I glance at Antonio and he's eating it too. It instantly reminds me of the bread and I feel like blushing, but I don't, because that's just girly. I just keep eating, because it's probably a good idea to put on some pounds between now and the games.

"At least you two have manners. The ones from last year had none at all, they just kept eating with their dirty little hands, like a couple of savages. It was, like, a really unpleasant sight, you know" Feliks scoffs as we're finishing the main course.

I glare at him. My gaze must be intense, because he flinches and looks at me questioningly, a fright in his green eyes. I clearly remember the pair from last year. They were two kids from Seam, one girl and one boy. Not once in their lifetime did they have enough to eat. So I suppose that when they saw all the food before their eyes, table manners were the last thing on their minds. Sure, I could handle a fork and a knife because my mother taught me, and the bastard next to me is a baker's son, but that doesn't mean I have to be proper, especially since I hate Feliks Łukasiewicz's comment. So when they bring other courses, I abandon the silverware and take food in my hands. Antonio stares at me, amused, and does the same. I don't get that bastard. As we finish the meal, I wipe my hands in the tablecloth and look at the Capitol man challengingly. He just purses his lips tightly together. It's hard not to smirk, but I don't.

Now that eating is over, a real battle begins. I have to fight to keep it all down. Tomato bastard is looking green too and it's reassuring somehow. Neither of us is used to such amounts of food. But I'm determined to win this war. If I can hold in Heracles' winter special – concoction of mice meat, pig entrails, and the tree bark – I'm definitely not puking because of overeating.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reaping across Panem. It's also a good moment for Capitol people to watch it once again, in case they missed live transmission.

One be one, from district 1 to 12, we see the other reapings. Sometimes there are volunteers, throwing their hands in the air and yelling, mostly, however, not. Most of the kids go, shivering, on the stage. I memorize their faces, memorize my competition. Some of them are easily engraved in my mind. Both tributes from 1, both volunteers, both (probably) boys. One with a scar across his nose, the other looking strangely girly. Then a hyperactive blond from 2, who lunges forward to volunteer. A dark skinned girl with slightly opened mouth that made her look like a fish from 5. But the one that strikes me the most is the twelve year old from 11. Pale carnation, bright green eyes and wavy blonde hair. They don't look similar in the first glance, no, but her size and demeanor are very Feliciano like. Only when she slowly climbs the steps and stands in the podium, and they call for volunteers, there's a dead silence disturbed by only whistling wind. No one wants to take her place.

And lastly, they show our district. Feli's name is called out and he walks towards the stage with pale face. Then I'm running and shouting desperately to volunteer. You can hear desperation in my voice. I reach my little brother and shove him behind me, my eyes wild as I look at the stage, too afraid that they won't hear, that they'll take him away from me. But they do hear, of course. There's Gilbert, taking Feliciano away and then I climb to the stage. Commentators aren't sure what to say about the refusal to applaud or the silent salute. 12's always been a little bit backwards and weird, but they said that our little customs were cute. Then, as if on cue, Carlos staggers and falls off the stage. The commentators groan comically. Antonio's name is drawn and he quietly takes his place next to me. We shake hands. The anthem plays. And it's the end of the program.

Feliks is very annoyed by the state that Carlos was in. "Your mentor has, like, a lot to learn about presentation and television behavior. Like, a lot" his voice is so offended that I almost lose it and crack down.

But then the tomato bastard laughs and says "He was drunk. He is every year" and I really do lose it. I giggle, surprising my fellow tribute because he's looking at me with his weird eyes. But then he smiles wickedly, watching me and I don't even think it's creepy, just a little bit weird, because he isn't Gilbert and I still want to laugh.

"Every day, you mean" I say and he chuckles again. Feliks is so weird, really. He makes it sound like Carlos' behavior can be changed with only a few tips from him. That's dumb, really.

"How great that you find it amusing" Feliks hisses "I just want you to remember, that your mentor is your ticket to life. If he doesn't, like, make a good impression and doesn't make you shine you'll be totally screwed and without sponsors. Carlos is, like, your line between life and death"

Just then our dumb mentor stumbles into the room, his hair messy and eyes glassy "I missed the supper?" he says in a slurred voice. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in the mess. Feliks makes a disgusted noise and looks at us with mixed emotions.

"So, like, laugh away!" he says and fleets the room, beforehand carefully avoiding the pool of vomit.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the Hunger Games

Chapter 4: Advice

For a while, Antonio and I observe our stupid mentor who's trying to rise to his feet – and failing – and falling back into the pool of vomit that reeks terribly. The smell and a simple glance at the puddle makes me want to throw up as well and I know I will if I don't flee soon enough. I exchange glances with tomato bastard, who doesn't look affected at all. He sends me something like a mixture of weak smile and grimace and I understand. Carlos might not be much, but Feliks was absolutely right. Once we're in the arena he's going to be all we've got, our only ticket to life. Without further ado, both of us reach and take Carlos' arms in our owns, slowly bringing him up to his feet

"Ooh, I tripped, didn't I? It smells awful" old bastard laughs and wipes his hand on his nose, which was a very stupid idea. His face is smeared with vomit and there are only few seconds separating me from returning everything I ate.

"It's okay, amigo. We'll take you to your room. Clean you up a bit" I can't help but notice that Antonio's talking to our mentor as if he were a child. It is quite appropriate though. It's hard to lead him, because we need to half-carry him as well and he isn't the lightest, but it's not that bad. It gets problematic as we reach his room though. It would be simply stupid to just throw him on the bed and the clean sheets, so we have to get him to the bathroom. Once we get there and situate him in the bathtub, his head hits the wall and he moans painfully. He keeps weeping until we turn on the shower and warm water splatters across his figure.

"It's okay, Lovino" Antonio turns to me and sends me a smile. I don't understand him. How can he smile so cheerfully in a situation like that? "I'll take it from here. Go back to your room" I nod and get up from my knees.

"Sure, whatever. Want me to send help?" there are a lot of Capitol people here. They cook for us, take care of us, guard us and serve us. If we ordered them, they'd surely come here running to clean up poor Carlos. But Antonio just shakes his head with a ghost of a smile still dancing on his lips and I understand that he doesn't want any help from people, that will be entertained once we die.

As I leave, I can't help but feel grateful to him. I don't really feel like seeing a naked Carlos and clean him up from the vomit. For example to wash it from his chest hair. That would be disgusting. It crosses my mind that the stupid tomato bastard is probably trying to play favorites, but I don't care. It's not like our mentor will remember anything tomorrow. He's too stoned. I almost feel bad for my fellow tribute. Few steps before the door to my room I stop, looking in the direction of Carlos' room. Why exactly is Antonio doing that? Surely he knows that our mentor won't remember a thing, so why bother? And since he hates the Capitol just as much as I do, why wouldn't he just simply ask them to make Carlos look civil instead of doing it by himself? Wouldn't it be a great revenge? And then a thought hits me and I'm terrified by it. Maybe he's just doing it out of kindness, just like he was kind to me when he threw that bread in my direction.

I'm alarmed by this thought, because kind Antonio is far worse than the unkind one. Kind people remind me of my little brother and they are quickly engraved in my heart as someone good. I can't afford to think like that about the tomato bastard, not in the place where we're going to be. I have to think of him as an enemy, a dangerous carnivorous beast that is trying to kill me. I need to think of him as someone evil, because otherwise I won't be able to get rid of him. He'll be the death of me and it can't happen. I bite my lip and rush into my room. I can't have anything to do with him anymore. I won't. I won't play friends with this bastard. I look for the cookies from his father and as the train pauses on a platform to refuel, I throw them out. That's it. No more ties. No more play pretend. No more Antonio Fernández Carriedo.

Unfortunately, the packet of cookies hits the ground and bursts open in a patch of dandelions. The image is brief because soon we're moving again, but it's enough. It's enough to remind me of the few years ago and I curse, because it is unfair that the annoying tomato bastard is stuck in my head with his kindness.

It was the dandelion that gave me hope, the dandelion that I saw after I received that bread from him. The exact same night me and Feliciano had a feast, we went dandelion hunting in the meadow that was full of them, and made a dandelion salad. Everything became different.

"What other food can we find here, fratello?" Feli asked me, smiling innocently.

"Anything. A lot" I told him, smoothing his cheek with my hand. "I'll memorize them and then we'll have a lot of food. I promise" My mother had a book that she brought with her from the apothecary shop. There were lots of medical plants there, drawn and described in my mother's careful, neat, curvy writing. She used this book whenever she forgot how a plant looked like. It became useless quickly, because all plants were engraved in her mind. That's when my dad took it from her and filled empty pages with his own drawings and descriptions. Just his plants weren't useful for medicine, but for eating. Dandelions, pokeweed, pines, wild onions. Feli and I spend the rest of the night looking over these pages and memorizing our potential food.

The next day we were off to school. At first, I'd always go and hung out in the Meadow, picking up some eatable plants, before finally gathering my courage and going under the fence. It was my first time there without my father around, without his weapons and bravery to protect me. I was on my own in the woods. I retrieved the small bow and arrows from the shallow tree. His present for my tenth birthday, made before his death from a fine wood. It felt safer with it around. In the beginning, I'd never go more than twenty yards away from the fence. I wasn't stupid or courageous enough to let myself be surrounded by the woods. I'd sit on an old oak tree and pray that some game comes by. After several hours I got lucky and shot a rabbit. I felt extremely proud, because it was my first. My first kill without my father's guidance. It felt amazing.

We hadn't had meat in months. When my mother saw the rabbit, something must have stirred up in hear, because she got up, skinned the carcass and made a stew with meat and some greens that my little brother had gathered in the Meadow. Gathering plants became his hobby. As soon as the stew was ready, our mother stopped moving before her unseeing eyes glared at the floor and she acted confused. She returned to her room and fell asleep. It was weird, really. But even though she was tired, Feli and I made her eat a bowl of hot food anyway.

The woods became our savior. Each day I'd go further and further into them, letting myself be drowned by the peacefulness of that place, of my second home, of my second life. At first it was slow, but soon I became a hunter. I accepted my fate. I stole eggs from the nests, caught fish in the nets, occasionally shot a rabbit or a squirrel for a stew and gathered plants. A lot of them. I checked and double-checked them with my father's book, because many of them are eatable, but the rest can kill you with just one bite. So I was careful, I gathered food. I kept us alive.

At first a howl or a cracking noise would send me back to the fence with the speed of lightening. I was afraid for the first two weeks, but then it became normal. I risked climbing up the trees to escape the wild dogs, who quickly got bored with me and moved on. There was no risk of cats or bears, as they lived deeper into the woods. I think they hated the smell that was coming from our district. I hated it too.

May 12th was the day when every child that had finished twelve years could sign up for tesserae. The ones that were born after that day had to wait a whole year. It was a weird system, but no one questioned it. No one had the guts. It was a good day. I went there and got the first portion of grain. I knew I'd have to repeat the action every month, but I didn't mind. It was food, so even if I had to stand in long lines, I'd manage. It was for Feliciano after all. Of course that did not mean that I could stop hunting. I couldn't. Oil and grain were not nearly enough to feed us. I kept on gathering greens, killing animals in the woods and went to trade in the Hob. I was absolutely terrified of that place but soon it became my next safe place, I was accepted. At first they'd trade with me just because I was my father's son. But soon they understood that I'm a hunter, too. That I can keep a family alive. That I'm a man and the current head of the 'Vargas' family. I was accepted. I started to understand the people there more. Who wants to trade for what. I had it memorized in a few days. The butcher would buy my rabbits, but he strangely hated squirrels. The baker – tomato bread bastard's father – would trade a squirrel for a bread, but only when his bitchy wife wasn't around. Once she was, he pretended not to know us. The Head Peacekeeper really enjoyed wild turkey and he'd pat my head whenever I'd bring him some. Matthew's father was very passionate about strawberries. Once I overheard him telling Matt that 'strawberries are like angels of the fruits, they're so red and shiny and they look just like your cheeks when you blush'. He's pretty nuts, that Mayor.

In late summer I was cleaning myself in a pond, when I noticed the flowers and plants growing around me. There were two particular flowers that caught my attention though. The first one, I recognized, was freesia. I heard they had many colors, but this particular one was simply beautiful. It was orange, though as it neared to the end, it got this strange fire impression. And the inside was different too. It was yellow. When I was younger, my father told me jokingly that if Feliciano was born a girl, his name would be Freesia. It was a weird name, so I'm glad instead of a sister I got a little brother. Padre told me that in the language of flowers, 'Freesia' means 'innocence'. Even though Feliciano isn't a girl, that name would suit him. Its' meaning as well. The second flower was growing with others of its' kind on a bush. It was red or maybe dark pink. Nothing extraordinary in the first glance, but it was very pretty. Red camellia. The flower that name's I'd be bearing if I were a girl. Dad never gave me the explanation why'd they call me something like 'Camellia', but mom said it's because I was their little miraculous flame. It ended at that. I took one flower in my hands and touched the petals lightly. I got out of the pond and started collecting some freesias and red camellias. Feli liked flowers. And so did mother. That night we feasted on fish and some greens in a colorful and good smelling atmosphere, for the first time in months – completely full. Ever since that day, Feliciano would go out and pick some freesias, camellias and some other flowers, always keeping our house pretty. Upon seeing them, our mother slowly started returning to us. She began to cook, wash the dishes and we got many trades for her medical remedies. One day she started singing again: "Just close your eyes…". The lullaby of mine and Feli's childhood.

Feliciano was delighted to have her back. He forgave her completely, holding her hand and humming, encoring her to sing. I wasn't like that. I didn't trust her. I just waited for the day she slips away again, because I thought something like that would definitely happen again. Everything was supposed to be alright, but I left her. I cut her off from my heart and didn't go back to her for protection. Nothing was ever the same between us ever again.

And it won't ever be again.

Or maybe it will. I have yelled at her today at Justice Building, true, but I told her that I love her too. Will she understand? Will she forgive me? When did I get so sappy anyway?

For I while I stand next to the train window, wishing that I could open it again. But I don't. In the distance I can see the lights from another district. Which is it, though? Ten? Six? I don't know. I can't really bring myself to care though. People are probably all going to sleep right about now. I wonder if mother and Feli are too? Surely they have watched the recap of today's events, sitting in our house with the shutters down. Have they eaten the fish stew and strawberries? Or have they left it untouched? Did they cry watching the repeat of the reaping? They must have, I think. Is my mother strong? Or has she already started to slip away again, leaving my little brother alone, with all that weigh and sadness on his fragile shoulders? Have they gone to bed already? If so, I'm sure that Feliciano is sleeping with mom tonight. He definitely is. Is he still crying? Has he stopped? I hope Pasta is there for him, laying by his side and protecting him from the world. He'll surely be a comfort for Feli. I'm so happy I didn't drown him.

Thinking about home makes me ache with loneliness and longing. If I want to cry, I think, this is a good time. There will be no trace of my tears in the morning so the cameras won't catch that, won't catch me being weak. Instead of crying I end up laughing though, like some kind of maniac. Could I have really been eating blackberries with Gilbert this morning? Was I really so carefree earlier today? Smiling, chuckling, hitting his arm lightly. Did he really fell in the water, slipping on the grass? Did he really ask me to run away with him this morning? It feels like a lifetime ago. Or maybe two lifetimes. Even the afternoon when he held me in his arms feels like a distant past. What is he doing right now? Is he okay? Is he back to being a moron or... or did he cry?

The thought of Gilbert crying is so unusual and strange and painful that I squeeze my eyes shut. I try not to think about it and strip to my underwear before sinking into the bed sheets. They're made of soft and silky fabric. They comfort me and soon I'm out, drifting into dreamless sleep.

"Up, up, up, skarbie! It's a big, big, big day today!" I wake up to Feliks' annoying voice, so cheerful and enthusiastic in the morning. I sit up, still not really awake, and wonder what it must be like in his head. Is it filled with pink chocolates or something? What does he dream about? Was he born annoying? Are his parents so fucking irritating as well or are they not? If they aren't they seriously fucked up their child's mind, to raise someone like that.

I put on the outfit from yesterday, because it's not really dirty, just crumped from spending the night on the cold floor, and I can't really be bothered to look for something new right now. I ran my finger over the golden mockingjay pin and think of the woods that are my secret oasis, of my father that was so cheerful, of my mother that should be cooking right now, of Feliciano and how he has to get on with his life, of Gilbert, who is probably hunting right now, of Lisa that treated me like her own son and told me so many times that with me around Gil might still become a normal person.

My hair is slightly messy, but the curl my mother did for me is still bouncing stubbornly. I don't even know how this piece of hairdo works. Besides hair isn't really that important. We're probably near the Capitol and once we get there, my stylist will take care of everything. Hair, clothes, make up – I hope they won't apply any on me. This stuff is girly. And clothes. If they make me go out nude, I'm not sure I will be able to hold myself back from punching that bastard in the face.

As I enter the room, Feliks brushes by me hurriedly with a cup of black coffee in his pale hand. His eyebrows are furrowed together and he's definitely scowling, which seems somehow unnatural on his 'pretty man' face. He's muttering something under his breath and it takes me a few seconds to understand that he's throwing so many profanities and obscenities directed at Carlos that even I'm impressed. I didn't know half of these exist. I glance at the table where my dumb mentor and Antonio are sitting. Carlos' face is puffy and red from yesterday, but he looks mildly amused. Tomato bastard, on the other hand, is blushing like a virgin and playing with a roll in his hand. Creepy people.

"Oh, sleepyhead spunky brat! Come on, sit down with us, you 'lil punk!" what the fuck does 'sleepyhead spunky brat' even mean? Is 'Lovino' so hard to remember? Goddamit. I slip into a sit next to Antonio, whose expression brightens as soon as my butt hits the chair. Is he laughing at me or something? I shrug it off and stare at my plate. It's already full with food. Eggs, ham and tomatoes. They make a lot of dishes with these red fruits. That's good, I think. I like them too. There is a bowl with oranges and apples and grapes and other fruits sank in the ice to keep them cold and fresh. Then there's a plate full of rolls that could keep my family going for weeks. Finally, in an elegant glass is orange juice. Or well, at least I think it's orange juice. I've only ever tasted that fruit once during New Years, when dad brought it from somewhere. Next to the elegant glass is black coffee. My mother loves it, but it's expensive so we couldn't afford it . Still, she'd get some sometimes and drink it with absolutely delighted expression. I tasted it once and it was awful. Too bitter and strong for my tastes. And then there is a cup of something I don't recognize. It's light brown in color and smells deliciously.

"It's hot chocolate. It's really good, Lovi" what the fuck is a 'Lovi'?! What is wrong with these people! Spunky brat and Lovi! Seriously?! I don't say anything though, but perhaps my expression gets scary, because tomato bastard flinches. I take a sip of the hot drink and am overwhelmed by the warmth and sweetness. It feels amazing and so rich in taste. There they are, plates full of food right before me, and yet what am I doing? I'm fucking drinking a warm liquid. Who cares though. It's delicious and I don't touch even one roll before draining my cup. I finish my drink with a pleased sigh and glance at Antonio, who is also observing me with that warm smile on his face. His eyes are laughing and it feels weird, because no one has ever looked at me like that with expectations of Feli and Gil and dad and it feels weird. I turn away and start eating, literally devouring the plates of the food. It's unhealthy to eat so much and my mother would be absolutely terrified, seeing me eat such big mouthfuls, but it's not important. What is important is that soon I won't see such delicious food ever again.

Once my stomach feels hard like a rock and like it's about to split open, I push the plate away and situate myself comfortably on the chair. I look at my companions. Antonio is still eating, dipping the rolls in the chocolate with furrowed eyebrows. He's probably wondering how long can the roll be in the drink before it falls into the chocolate for good. Then I look at Carlos and am not really surprised to see his plate full. He's drinking some clear liquid and thanks to its' smell I can tell it's some kind of spirit. I don't really know Carlos, but I'd sometime see him in the Hob, putting out a lot of money. In return he'd get a glass bottle of white wine. Judging by the state he's in already, it's obvious that he'll be completely out even before we reach the Capitol.

I realize I really hate Carlos. It's his fault that 12 never has winners. Surviving the Games is mostly about your skills, but also about how generous are your sponsors. That is if you have any. In District Twelve's case, our tributes usually ended up having no sponsors, because none of them liked Carlos. And that fucking drunkard didn't stop drinking and try to help them, no, he just continued sipping his drink.

"You're supposed to give us some advice" I grumble, looking at my mentor with unstoppable irritation. He glances at me with amusement, smirking under his nose.

"Want advice, eh, brats? Here's some. Stay alive" he bursts into laughter, some spirit spilling out from his glass. I grit my teeth and turn to Antonio to exchange looks with him, before I remind myself that I'm not having anything to do with that tomato lover anymore. But instead of turning right away, I just kind of stare into his eyes that hold hardness in them. He's angry, I realize, and it makes me sort of stupidly happy.

"That's very funny, amigo" in mare seconds he's up and his arm knocks out the glass from Carlos' hand. It shatters on the floor with a loud noise, spilling the liquid all over the train's floor. "Only not to us, see" Antonio's voice is filled with so much sweetness it makes me shudder. It's off. Crazy psychopaths that smile when they're angry are the worst, or at least that's what my dad used to say.

Carlos is silent for few seconds, considering the situation, before his face turns towards Antonio and he punches tomato bastard straight in the jaw. He stumbles and falls on the floor, holding his jaw in pain. Then his face relaxes and he turns away to grab the bottle full of alcohol. I react quickly. I drive my knife into the table between his fingers and the bottle, missing only mare millimeters from sinking the blade into his big hand. There's a tense silence and I'm waiting for a punch, but it never comes. Instead he sits relaxed and looks at us with narrow eyes, the corners of his lips going up slightly.

"Well, well, well~. Spunky brat and bread brain. What's up with this? Did they actually get me two fighters this year? How interesting, very interesting. Especially you, spunky brat. You're one rebellious twat" I want to punch him.

Antonio rises up from the floor and heads towards the bowl with fruits. He takes out some ice cubes and is about to raise them to the red mark on his jaw, but is stopped by the fucking mentor of ours.

"No, kid. Let it bruise. Let it show. Make 'em scared. Make these bastards from audience think you've mixed up with some tributes and fought. That you ain't scared. That you've started fighting before even entering the arena"

"Que? No! That's against the rules!" Antonio exclaims, looking panicky. What the hell? Carlos looks annoyed and I can't really blame him. Bread brain, was it? Useful insult, I think I'll remember it.

"Kid, stop being such a pussy, okay? You'd be in trouble only if these bastards from Capitol caught you actually fighting. But they wouldn't. Audience will be only more impressed with you. You fought and weren't caught. That's some amazing skill, yeah? And you, spunky!" he turns to me "Can you do something with that knife other than hitting the table?"

My weapon is bow and arrows. They're the extensions of my arms, they're the weapon that I'm truly confident with. But I have also spent a fair amount of time throwing knives around. If I wounded an animal, sometimes it was a better idea to throw a knife into it before approaching it. I wasn't really that good at it, but I got a good training from Gilbert, who absolutely loved throwing stuff around. And he was actually lucky enough to be very good at it. Throwing sharp things, I mean. Perhaps luck really does come with idiocy. I focus back on reality. If I want to make that drunkard like me, now's the time to make a good first impression. I grab the knife from the table and make sure to get a strong grip on the blade, and then throw the knife across the room with all my power. Truthfully, I was hoping for it to just stick solidly in the wall, but it lodges in the seam between two panels. It makes me look far better than I am and for a second I'm scared that Gilbert's stupidity might have rubbed off on me.

"Stand over there, both of you. Now, hurry up before I change my mind" Antonio and walk to the center of the room and stand straight, while Carlos is circling around us, muttering something under his nose. Like he's examining an animal. "Well look at this, you little brats! You're actually pretty handsome, aren't you? Quite fit too. Bread brain's smile is dazzling, you work on it, spunky. What is that hair-curl of yours? Mysterious, defying the physics laws, audience will love it. Not nearly as tragic as it could be. Once your stylists get to you, you two will be real pretty boys" he snickers, looking us up from toes to head again.

Neither tomato bastard nor I question that. Hunger Games aren't beauty contest, but if you're ugly, you're pretty much screwed. The audience only likes the pretty ones, so all these beauties get the most sponsors.

"Alright brats, let's make a deal, shall we? You won't interfere with my drinking and I swear I'll stay sober enough to help guide you, you poor lost sheep lost in the sea of Hunger Games confusion" he glances at us and cracks up upon seeing my scowl "You have to do everything I tell ya though. Otherwise the deal is over"

What deal, goddamit? He's still going to be drinking and being annoying, it's not a good deal at all. Well, it is better compared to ten minutes ago when we had no guide, but I'm still not fucking pleased.

"Bien" Antonio's grinning. There is definitely something wrong with his head. Absolutely.

"Fine, so help us. Once we get in the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia to-"

"Nah, spunky, slow down. In a few minutes we'll be pulling down in the station in the Capitol. You'll be swimming in camera flashes and your crazy fans, which believe me, you already have. Then they're gonna give you to your stylists. These crazy punks will do a lot of shitty things that you won't like. You'll hate it. But no matter how pissed of you two are or whatever they do to you, don't resist. Resisting is only a death wish" Carlos says, looking grim.

"But-"

"Oh shut up, there are no buts. Don't you resist" with these words he takes a bottle of spirits and walks out of the car, leaving the two of us alone. The car is dark, I realize. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it's like the night has fallen again. It comes to me that we're probably in a tunnel connecting the Capitol with the districts. This damned tunnel is also the reason why the rebels lost the war, which led to me being a fucking tribute right now. The rebels that were climbing the mountains to get to Capitol were easy targets for "justice's" air forces.

Antonio and I stand in silence, the train speeding up and driving through the tunnel. I think about all these stones separating me from the clear blue sky and I feel nauseous. I can't stand being trapped in the stones. It reminds me of the mines, my father, the explosion and how all the rocks might just crumble down any moment. I shudder and close my eyes, hoping that it'll be over soon.

The train finally begins to slow down, the light coming back. I'm in the Capitol, I think. Before I can stop myself, I'm already running towards the window to see the infamous land that I've only seen in the television. From the corner of my eye I can see Antonio doing the same. The cameras haven't lied about the amazingness of Panem's ruling city. Actually, they might not have quite capture all of its' magnificence. There are high buildings everywhere, sparkling in the sun in a rainbow-y hue of colors. The cars are rolling down the streets. The people in different and weird hairdos are walking on the pavements, chattering with one another, dressed in the most peculiar things I've ever seen, their faces painted seven shades of whatever color they're wearing. These people have never missed a meal or worried about starvation or the reaping. Everything here seems so artificial. The pink is too bright, the green to deep. It's like these lollipops we can't afford that are sold in the tiny candy shop in 12, so unnatural.

Soon the people begin to point at us eagerly, clearly recognizing the tribute train. I step away, sickened with their excitement and happiness. I thought that Antonio would do the same. I was wrong. He stands there and actually starts to wave his hand, grinning at these sick bastards happily. He only steps away once the train comes to a halt in the station, blocking us from the view.

His grin doesn't waver though, not even when he notices me staring at him. He just shrugs "Who knows, one of them might be rich, right?"

I have misjudged him. I think back to all of his actions and realize that it's all been an act. Shaking my hand, his father coming in to give me the cookies and promising to feed my younger brother… he must have put him to that. Also the tears at the station. Then wanting to wash up Carlos to win him over, but since that stupid drunkard was too drunk to remember, Antonio tried something else. He snapped at him to get his attention, to get himself acknowledged. And now the waving at the Capitol people, trying to get the people to like him, trying to win them over, trying to get sponsors.

He's fighting, I realize. He's slowly forming a plan, not to stay alive for a little bit longer but to survive. He's working hard to survive and win the games and go back home. Which also means that the kind bastard that gave me bread and hope, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, is already fighting really hard to kill me.

Information

Red camellia in the language of flowers' means: You're a flame in my heart; You know... Katniss was a girl on fire and all... yeah? Hehe...

Freesia in the language of flowers' means: Innocence, trust; I found it fitting ^^"

Padre - it. 'Father'

Skarbie - pl. 'dear/baby'

Que? - sp. 'What?'

Bien - sp. 'Good'


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the characters, they belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei. Hunger Games series belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Chapter 5: The stylist

R-i-i-i-p! I squeeze my eyes and grit my teeth to ignore the pain that is coming from my legs with that annoying itchy feeling afterwards. The one that yanks a strip of fabric from my leg, tearing out every single hair that I used to have on my legs is Jia Long also called Leon. He has a terrifying tattoo on his pale right cheek resembling a dragon, and something he called 'a firework' on his other. He has brown hair with rather shocking red highlights here and there. 'Newest fashion' or something like that. "Sorry for causing you an immense pain" he doesn't sound sorry at all, that bastard. His voice is emotionless and the words that just left his mouth sound like something read from a script, memorized. That's annoying as hell. "You're just so hairy" oh God, he's pissing me off. Why the hell does his jaw barely open when he talks? Why is his face so expressionless? What the hell is that red strand in his hair for anyway? Plus his way of talking is weird. All these weird vowels…

And then Jia Long makes that irritating face. Like he's trying to look at me with sympathy, but at the same time trying to keep his fucking pokerface on. The finishing effect looks like he's mocking me and I swear I'm going to murder him if he doesn't say something and change that expression. "Be happy. This is the last one. Yay" I grit my teeth, because if I don't I will hurt him. I grip the edges of the table I'm sitting on a prepare for the pain. My final, precious shield of leg hair is ripped off with the last yank from Leon. Just to make it clear, I've been at that fucking Remake Centre for at least three long hours now, and I still haven't seen my stylist, not once. Not even a trace of him, not a word, nothing. Apparently that bastard has no intention of seeing me before Leon and the rest of my prep team finishes with correcting some obvious problems on my body. Which, I have to admit, is quite a challenge. When they were scrubbing off the dirt of me, they put me in a bath filled with pretty smelling soaps and bubbles and made me sit there for forty-five minutes. When I was already situated in the bathtub comfortably, they came in with big, yellow sponges and some gritty loam, that has removed not only the dirt, but also at least three layers of my skin. It was the most painful experience in my life, before they started tearing off my hair. From my legs, my arms, my torso, under my arms and parts of my eyebrows that they deemed 'too bushy'. Fuck them, they're too bushy, my eyebrows were just fine, dammit. Ridding me off my hair left me feeling like a puckered bird, so nude and defenseless. Plus everything feels so annoying. My skin is so sore and my nails are shaped perfectly, which is an unusual sight for me. And even though I just want to punch every single one of them and scream bloody murder, I don't.

"You're doing very well, daze" the guy called Yong Soo tells me with a wicked smile on his face. He has a weird haircurl similar to mine, but it's actually very different. I'm not sure what kind of fucked up experiments they do in Capitol, but Yong Soo's curl has a frigging face that is smirking. Its' lips are bright red and I'm not sure I want to stay here even for a few more seconds. "We really can't stand the whiners! But look at you! You look so sexual and erotic, I just want to claim your breasts, because your nipples are so alluring, but Kiku said I absolutely mustn't" I'm genuinely scared right now, because fuck, someone call the Peacekeepers since it's sexual harassment or I'll turn it into murder scene soon.

"Gosh, stop it, you idiot! You're scaring the poor sweetheart!" the girl that approaches us is around my age, I guess. At least she looks like that. Her name's Mei and she has long brown hair with bright blue highlights. Her arms are light turquoise and she kind of reminds me of the creature they call 'monster'. I don't really know why'd she do that to herself, since she's a beautiful woman with very… long eyelashes, and the unnatural skin color makes her looks terrible. But well, Capitol logic. Mei chases Yong Soo away and soon she and Leon are applying some weird lotion on me. It stings at first, but then it soothes my itching skin, just a little bit. After that they literally pull me down from the table and take off a thin robe I was wearing just a second ago, leaving me completely naked and exposed. I think that I should be really embarrassed, but I'm more terrified than anything. Yong Soo's eyes are making holes in my lower areas as he's mumbling something that sounds suspiciously similar to 'devouring'. Then there's Mei, who's all red on the face and squealing as she looks at me and then at Leon, who looks as indifferent as ever. I mean, I've always known that people from Capitol were fucking nuts and weird, but this is seriously beyond my expectations. Did they grow up on some weird stuff?

They finally step back "Excellent. You actually look like a normal human being now." Leon says with an emotionless voice, which makes the other two giggle maniacally.

I force myself to smile – which comes out more like a frown than a smile, really – and through gritted teeth say "Thanks. There aren't many opportunities or reasons for us to look pretty in Twelve, you know"

Apparently they took my gritted teeth as a sign of holding back my tears, because it wins them over completely. Mei hugs me tightly and rests her head on my torso, which feels nice. She is a pretty woman after all. "You poor darling! Of course you don't! But don't worry! You'll be shining tonight! Right, Yong Soo?"

"Hell yeah! When Kiku finished with you, you'll be like the princess! Only a man!"

"That's a prince. You needn't worry, Lovino. We got rid of the hair and the dirt. You look civil now and Kiku will make you shine" Leon says, smiling at me slightly. I don't really know why I'd be worried about something so trivial as looking nice, but whatever "Let's call him now"

Mei and Yong Soo run out of the room, with the expressionless bastard following in tow. It's stupid how I can't make myself hate them. Sure, they're weird as fuck, but they're complete idiots. They're like Gilbert and Feliciano mixed into one persona. It's unfair, I think. They made my prep team remind me of home and that not okay at all, because thinking about Gil and Feli is the last thing I want to do here. To distract myself, I look at the cold white walls and then at the floor, where my thin robe lies, begging me to put it on again. I'm tempted to do so, but I know it would be useless anyway. My stylist will definitely make me take it off again anyway. My hand reaches to my hair, the only part of my body that was left alone. The curl my mother so carefully put up is still standing proudly. My mother. I completely forgot about the suit that belonged to my father that she's given me. I left it in the train on the cold, cold floor, never to see it again. I didn't think I'd crave for something to remind me of home. Now I wish I had.

The door opens and a young man enters with a gentle smile on his face. He looks normal, completely normal. Big brown eyes and dark hair. Casual clothes that don't look at all pretentious like these of other stylists'. They're not fancy or anything, but they make him look handsome and professional for sure. The stylist I've seen on TV in the past had colorful hair, colorful skin tone or rainbowish, skimpy, glittery clothes. I thought it was impossible for Capitol people to look so normal, so like us. And yet here's the proof that even they can look human. The only thing that seems to connect him with this place is a silver eyeliner, which brings out golden sparks in his eyes. Even though I think that Capitol fashion is stupid at best, I can't help but notice how damn attractive my stylist actually looks like.

"Hello, Vargas-san. I'm Honda Kiku and I will be your stylist" he says in a quiet voice, bowing to me slightly. What incredible politeness, I think. And his voice lacks the stupidity of Capitol.

"Hello" I say back and we just stare at each other.

"Can you just give me a moment, Vargas-san?" I nod and he comes closer to me, before walking in circles a few times, slowly scanning my body. His gaze is so intense that I need to fight the urge to cover my lower half, which is pathetic. We're both guys and I'm obviously not small or big, just normal, so what's there to be embarrassed about? Must be Capitol's stupidity rubbing off on me, or something. Or maybe Gil's. Or tomato bastard's. Must be.

"Who did your hair, Vargas-san?"

"My mother" I answer, glancing at him "And Lovino's fine" he nods slightly, smiling.

"It's very beautiful. I am quite curious about your curl. So fair I have only met Yong Soo with one like that, however he had it surgically attached. Yours is natural, I presume. It's very mysterious. And charming, really. Your mother is clever. She knew exactly how to make you look beautiful, Lovino-kun" I can feel heat rushing to my face, so I turn away and stare at an empty, white wall.

I was expecting someone different. Someone flamboyant, colorful, loud, rude. Someone older, who'd pretend to be young with all these operations that they offer here. Who'd desperately try to hide their own age. Someone that would see me just like a piece of meat, an animal ready for slaughter. A toy, sent here for a pure enjoyment. So far, Honda Kiku did not meet my expectations. I definitely did not think that my stylist would be actually this fucking nice and polite.

"Y-You're new, right? I don't recognize you" I say, trying to pray the red off of my face. Why am I the blush-able one in the family anyway? It's unfair. Feli should be all cute and blushing. And what is wrong with this guy anyway? He's definitely new, because I've never seen him before, unlike other stylist. Some of them have been around for my whole life, making the tributes pretty every year. And yet here's a newbie bastard who's trying to make me blush.

"Yes. This is my first time in the Games" he chuckles, and I can't help but notice what a melodic sound it is. And that I'm acting like a pathetic little girl with a crush.

"I see. So you ended up with Twelve" I say bitterly, glaring at the floor with hatred for no particular reason. Newcomers always end up with us, because we're the least worth looking good.

"Not at all. I asked for District Twelve, Lovino-kun" he smiles at me and turns around without further explanation "Could you please put on a robe? I think maybe we could have a proper conversation then. I am not quite as comfortable with nakedness as Yong Soo, you see"

I pull on my robe and follow him quietly, not really bothering to look around me. Knowing this stupid place, the walls will be either colorful s fuck or ghostly white. I don't know which one's worse, to tell the truth. As we reach the room, Kiku invited me to sit on one of the two red sofas. As I take my seat, he sits on the sofa opposite to me. I look around. Three out of four walls are as white as a paper, with no decorations, pictures or even lamps. The last one is a huge glassy window, that allowed you to take a look at the whole Capitol. Judging by the position of the sun, I'd say it's about noon. I glance at Kiku, wondering why exactly he brought me here. He presses a button on the side of the table and it splits into two, revealing our food to us. Chicken and tomatoes cooked in a creamy sauce laid on pearl white rice, tiny green peas and peppers, with flower shaped rolls laying on the second plate. And finally, a chocolate pudding with a strawberry on top for dessert. I briefly wonder if tomato bastard and Carlos are having the same thing as I, before erasing them from my memory. Who would have time to worry about them anyway.

I try to imagine myself cooking this dish back at home. Since we don't have chickens back in Twelve, I would need to shoot a turkey as a substitute. And then another one to be able to trade for tomatoes, because they aren't the least expensive thing in the universe. Feli's goat's cheese would have to take creams' place, since we would never be able to do it back home. Peas are at home, in the garden, but I'd have to go look for the pepper in the woods. No matter what we do though, our tesserae is never going to resemble that pearl white rice. No, no, no, our grain is completely brown, not white. It's a mush, too. The rolls would take two to three squirrels to trade with Antonio's father. As for the pudding, I have no idea what's in that. All in all, it would take me ages to gather food for this one meal, and it'd still be a very poor substitute for Capitol's version.

I wonder what it's like in Capitol people's everyday lives, where they only need to press a button to get a real feast on their tables, while we either have to work very hard to get something, anything to eat, or die from hunger. What do they do in their free time anyway? Beside wearing fancy clothes, decorating their bodies, getting operations and waiting for a train with new tributes on their stations to enjoy the Hunger Games, what exactly do they do? I hunt together with Gilbert, we never have time to be bored. Tomato bastard is busy with baking bread, I guess. Mattie always reads a lot, and he'd sometimes tell me about things he found out about from his books. Feliciano goes out to play with Gil's younger brother, that annoying Ludwig who absolutely reminds me of potatoes, or helps mom at home with her medications. Vash takes care of little Lili and they help out at their house. Others work hard for survival. Whereas Capitol people? What do they do?

I look up and find Kiku staring at me intensely, before he sends me a sad smile "Sorry. We must look really despicable in your eyes, don't we?" is that guy some sort of mind reader or something? Or is it written all over my face? Doesn't matter anyway, because he's right. I do think that a whole lot of them are rotten, spoiled little bastards.

"I understand, so don't feel troubled" he says lightly, looking up at me again "Instead we should talk about your costume, Lovino-kun. My partner, Yao, is your friend's stylist. His name is Fernández-san, isn't it? He looks like a very kind person, just like you. Me and my partner have been thinking about dressing the two of you into complementary costumes, because not even the brightest of the starts shines quite as much, as two stars standing close to each other" he says, and I can't help but notice sparks in his dark eyes "You most likely know that the tributes have to be dressed into something, that would reflect the district's flavor, right?" I nod.

Every year the tributes wear an outfit that represents their district in some way. It is customary, because it helps remind these brainless Capitol people what we do and with what we provide them through our hard work. District Eleven represents agriculture. Some of their outfits were quite original, at least the ones I remember. Tributes from four are dedicated to fish, so some dumb stylist sometimes put them in fish outfits, which is too dumb even for this fucked up Capitol. District Three is factories. Antonio and I, however, come from Twelve. Paradise for coal miners, coal dust and basically just fucking coal. In the past tributes from my district were dressed in various clothes. From baggy coal miner stuff, to skimpy clothes with hats that had headlamps, to the most dreadful one, nakedness. They made the tributes undress from all their clothes and proceeded to cover them with dark powder that was supposed to represent coal dust. In the end both girls – since it was a rare year when two females were chosen from a district – had to go out cover by nothing but 'coal'. That sort of look didn't exactly help them find sponsors. Instead they were made fun of by other tributes, and if I recall correctly, killed off quite quickly in the Games. So as I stare at my stylist, I'm expecting the worst.

"So you won't me to wear a coal miner outfit?" I ask, trying to suppress the dreadful feeling that has been growing inside of me. I look similar to my dad. Very similar, some hunters told me back home. And if I had to wear something that he used to wear so often, I don't think I could bear it. I'll feel like he's staring at me through my own eyes. Wouldn't that be weird, I wonder.

"Not exactly. You see, Lovino-kun, Yao and I think that the whole coal miner outfit is quite overdone, don't you agree? We were thinking about something more… special. Unforgettable. In these plain coal miners outfits no one will remember you. We can't have that, you see, Lovino-kun. Both Yao and I have decided that we want to make you shine like a star on this beautiful sky. Both of you have to look absolutely outstanding and strong. It is our job to make District Twelve shine" he tells me with honesty as I stare at him with blank expression.

I'll be naked for sure, I think.

"So we've decided not to concentrate on the coal mining itself, no, that would be quite boring. Instead we are going to focus on the coal only" fun-fucking-tastic. Naked and covered in some itchy black powder, I think. Kiku grins "And what do we do with coal, Lovino-kun? We burn it, of course!"

What does burning coal have to do with my damned outfit?

"You're not afraid of fire, are you, Lovino-kun?" my eyes widen, because that guy is fucking insane. Upon seeing my expression, he breaks into maniacal laughter and instead of feeling freaked out like I should, I feel rather relaxed and let myself smile. My smile vanishes when he takes my hand and starts running to a different room, where I'll have to spend next God knows how many hours.

It indeed takes a few hours to get me ready, and when Kiku finally says that I look 'perfect', do I realize what I'm wearing. My costume will be either the most sensational or the deadliest during these Games opening ceremonies. I'm in a simple black unitard that covers me from my ankles to my neck. There's a bright, hazy red letter 'V' on the left side of my chest. Kiku made me wear shiny laced boots that reach my knees and are absolutely the longest shoes I've seen so far. But the real thing that finishes my costume is a fluttering soft cape, made of orange, yellow and red streams, with a matching headpiece. That stupid stylist said he wants to light them up with real fucking fire as soon as our carriage rolls into the streets.

"Don't worry, Lovino-kun, it is not a real flame. It would be absolutely terrible if you burnt to ashes. My partner and I came up with that idea a few hours ago and we are convinced you and Fernández-san will be an absolutely outstanding couple. You'll be perfectly safe, don't worry" oh I wouldn't be so sure, you damned Capitol bastard. I get a feeling I'll be burnt to crisps by the time we reach the fucking city center. And what 'couple' anyway? Do I look like I'm friends with that stupid tomato bastard? Is he insane? And why the hell does he accent 'partner' so much anyway? Could he be gay? "Lovino-kun, are you okay?"

"Wh- yeah, I'm fine" why the hell wouldn't I be fine? I'm just going to be barbecued in a few hours.

"Your face is red, Lovino-kun"

"Oh shut up." why the hell is he giggling anyway? He's probably secretly insane, that bastard.

Unlike in the previous years, Kiku and my prep team don't apply any make up on me, only some highlights here and there. The bastard said something about natural beauty, which did not make me blush, no. That's just girly. My hair is in my normal hairstyle, without any extensions or anything like that. Not dyed any color either. "I want them to recognize you for who you are, Lovino-kun. I want them to remember you as yourself, not as someone else. When you're in the woods I want everyone to know who you are thanks to your cute curl. Lovino, the boy who was on fire. Doesn't that sound nice, Lovino-kun?" kind of dumb, actually. But I don't want to crush his silly little dreams, because he is a little bit like Feli and Gil and I'm weak against idiots. Not because I kind of like him. Just look at him. Honda Kiku, a calm and collected person is actually a madman. It's obvious.

Despite this morning's revelation, as soon as I see tomato bastard in a costume identical to mine, with exception of a red 'A' instead of 'V', I feel a little bit relieved. He should know a lot about fire, shouldn't he? He is a baker's son after all. It would be shameful if he had no idea what to do with fire. His stylist and prep team are also there. I stare at a female standing to him and squint my eyes. Whenever Kiku mentioned 'Yao', I thought he was talking about a man. But the person in front of my eyes is clearly a woman. Silky brown hair tied in a simple ponytail. Big dark eyes, filled with intelligence and knowledge, meaning she wasn't a dumb idiot. A white shirt with pinkish pattern and matching pants. A watch that had a shape of a kitten, all white. It had a fricking ribbon. Why the hell does a watch even have a ribbon?! That Yao has a pretty face, smooth cheeks and she looks just as normal as Kiku. Sure, she's as giddy as the rest of Antonio's and my prep teams, but it's to be expected. We look kind of impressing. And Kiku, that bastard, is just being a creep, being all quiet and weary as he accepts congratulations.

Yao catches me staring and smiles at me kindly. She's a very pretty woman that looks around early thirties. And she isn't trying to hide it, which makes her all the more attractive to me. She looks like a good mother material. I wonder if she's Kiku's wife or something. They sure look at each other with great affection. I didn't know they could make these kind of expressions in Capitol too. I thought everyone here was an insensitive jerk unable to love. I glance at tomato bastard and furrow my eyebrows, because he's looking at the floor and blushing. What the hell? He fell in love with his stylist at first sight? Man, talk about pathetic.

We're all taken down to the bottom of the Remake Center, which is absolutely gigantic. Since the opening ceremonies are about to begin, the tributes are put in pairs into their chariots, pulled by four horses of different colors. Ours are coal black, but they could as well be reapers. All of the animals are so well trained that no one has to guide them and they'll reach their destination anyway. Kiku and Yao direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions. When they're pleased, they walk away to discuss something among themselves, leaving the two of us alone. I turn to look at them just as they're leaning real close to each other. Just as expected, Kiku is a nutcase with no decency.

"What do you think about the fire?" I whisper to Antonio, who's looking at our stylists and grinning madly. Why the hell is he happy?! Didn't he like that Yao girl?!

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine, Lovi" he say, still smiling.

"Deal" I grumble, staring off into the distance. Maybe if we get them off soon enough, we'll manage to avoid the worst burns. We won't get out of it without damage for sure. But it's bad. They're going to throw us into the arena no matter what state we're in. If we're all burnt it's going to be a real hassle. "I know that that stupid drunkard said we have to do absolutely everything that these Capitol maniacs tell us to do, but I don't think he predicted we'd get a crazy stylist duo that wants to set us on fire" I mange through gritted teeth.

"Where is he anyway? Wasn't he supposed to protect us from situations like these?" Antonio asks, looking around as if he'll notice our annoying mentor.

"Oh please, with all the alcohol he has in himself, it's probably best not to get him anywhere near fire, or else we'll all fucking explode" our eyes meet.

And suddenly, we're both laughing. Maybe it's because we're both nervous and don't know what do to anymore. Maybe it's because our stylist gave us some sort of 'madman' virus. Maybe it's because we've finally realized how stupid it is. We're going to be burning like some wooden sticks in front of the whole audience of Panem. But we're laughing and it feels nice.

"Yao sure is a crazy woman, isn't she?" I ask, looking back at our stylist. Antonio blinks at me.

"Yao is a man though. But you were really lucky, to get a pretty girl like Kiku as your stylist" now it's my time to blink and make the most ridiculous face.

"What the fuck? He's a guy!" we stare at each other and burst into laughter again. Everything seems so silly right now.

The opening music begins. It's easy to hear, because they blast it through gigantic speakers placed all around the Capitol. Massive door slide open, reveling the crowd-lined streets. It's sickening how many of them came here just to see us before we go for slaughter, before we become their greatest fun. The carriages are supposed to ride for roughly twenty minutes, before they reach the City Center, where they are going to welcome us, play Panem's anthem, and escort all Tributes to the Training Center, that will become our house, or rather prison, until the Games begin.

The tributes from District One ride out in a chariot pulled by snow white horses. They look just like they did on the TV. The taller one has brown hair and green eyes, and is grinning madly. His fellow tribute, a he? a she?, has his/hers dirty blonde hair decorated with white clips. They're wearing tasteful tunics glittering with jewels, and with that spray-printed silver on their pretty skin. They both look beautiful and stunning. District 1 makes luxury items for Capitol, so it's no wonder they're shining so brightly. They are always the favorites of the people. Even now you can hear the loud roars of the crowd as their chariot continues riding.

Tributes from District Two get into position to follow them, the platinum hair colored girl glaring at the hyperactive blond with disgust. I think she's yelling at him, but he just laughs obnoxiously. In no time at all, they leave as well, followed by other districts. The tributes from 11 are just rolling out, when Kiku approaches us with a serious expression on his face. I notice a lighted torch a little too slowly. Before I know what's happened, he's already set our capes on fire "Here you go, Lovino-kun, Fernández-san" he says with a smile, observing our outfits carefully. I gasp, waiting for the terrifying heat to arrive. But it doesn't. In the place where the fire should be burning me by now, I can only feel a light tickling sensation. I look at tomato bastard and see him in a similar state of bewilderment. Kiku climbs up on our chariot and stands before us, igniting our headpieces just like he did with our capes. He lets out a sigh of relief and smiles up at us. "It works" then he looks at me and gently tucks a hand under my chin, making me raise up my head and stare into his deep eyes.

"Remember. Keep your heads high and smile. You are absolutely lovely. They're going to love you" he says, caressing my cheek gently. I briefly wonder what Yao thinks about him being this affectionate towards me, and desperately try to suppress the blush that is slowly creeping on my face. I hate that part of me, seriously. Who the fuck blushes every time someone invades your personal space? Why the hell do so many people invade my personal space anyway? He pulls his hand away and sends me a last smile before jumping off of our chariot.

Just as we start moving, he turns around and shouts something to us, but the music drowns him out completely. I can't understand him. He starts doing some vague gestures.

"What the hell is he saying?" I ask Antonio, and any other questions die right there in my throat. It's the first time I've realized that he looks absolutely dazzling in these fake flames. I realize, that I must look similar.

"I think he wants us to hold hands" says Antonio. And before I can protest, he grabs my right hand in his left tightly and entangles our finger. I can feel an unfamiliar but pleasant warmth emitting from him. We look at Kiku for confirmation, and his slim figure nodding, grinning and showing us thumbs up is the last thing I see before we enter the city.

At first the crowd is alarmed by our appearances. Well, who can blame them. We're just casually riding on a chariot while the fire is slowly eating us alive. If I were back home, I'd probably start cursing at the dumb Capitol people for setting the tributes to fire. The shouts quickly change into cheering though, and I can hear loud 'District Twelve! District Twelve!' from every direction. Every head is turned at us, people don't even pay attention to three chariots that are ahead of us. If it was another occasion, I'd feel bad for District 11 and the pretty little girl, but I'm too busy being frozen and not knowing what do to. Antonio nudges me with his elbow and points his head to the screens. The sight melts away all my fear. On the screen, there are two boys, holding each other's hands and looking absolutely breathtaking. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces and makes us look even more mysterious. Our capes seem to be leaving a trail of fire, a path that we're creating, showing that two tributes from 12 managed to leave something like that. Kiku was right about not putting a lot of make up on us. This way we look more attractive and still utterly recognizable.

Remember. Keep your heads high and smile. You are absolutely lovely. They're going to love you! I hear Kiku's voice in my head and lift my head a little, putting on my winning smile that I used on my school teacher a lot. Whenever I smiled like that, she'd let me leave the class a few minutes earlier. It wasn't much, but it always gave me just this little more time to hunt and get food for my family. As I gain a little more confidence, I wave my hand at the crowd. I'm glad that this bastard is next to me, because I'm not sure I could keep my balance otherwise. How the heck is he so steady and calm anyway? I look at him and he's grinning like a madman, waving his hand frantically. He's quite an actor, I have to admit. I can't lose with him, I think, and start blowing kisses in the direction of our possible future sponsors. Tomato bastard catches on quickly and does the same, squeezing my hand a little tighter. The people of the Capitol are going nuts, screaming our first names, our district's name and showering us with flowers and praises.

The pounding of music, the cheers and admiration work their way to my head and I can feel excitement overflow me. Kiku and Yao just gave the two of us a great advantage. There's no way anyone is going to forget us. They won't forget me. Lovino, the boy who was on fire. It sounds stupid, but the more stupid it sounds, the more likely they are to remember it. And once they do, surely there has to be at least one person willing to be my sponsor. I don't need Carlos' help to get me sponsors, I hope I just won a few. Or at least one. And with a little bit extra help in the Games, with the right weapon, with food and water, I have no reason to count myself out of the Games. No, not yet. I still have a chance.

Someone throws me a red rose. I catch it, wondering how exactly I managed not to hurt myself on the thorns, and give it a delicate sniff. Suddenly tomato bastard's forehead bumps into mine as he too, tries to smell the aroma of the flower. He grins to me and I give him a light smirk in return, wondering why exactly we're playing friends. But well, might as well act like a friendly guy for now. People are cheering and it crosses my mind briefly if it's because Antonio and I seem so close. I turn to the direction where the rose came flying from and blow a kiss to the giver. Hundreds of arms reach out to catch it, as if it was a normal, visible thing.

"Lovino! Antonio!" I can hear from all sides. Everyone wants our kisses. We've sure left an impression.

It's not until we enter City Center that I realized I must have completely stopped the blood from flowing to tomato bastard's hand, that's how tight I've been squeezing it. I look at our linked fingers and loosen my grasp, but Antonio regains his grip on my head right back, holding it even tighter than before. That one act makes me feel somewhat warm and it's weird. "Don't let go of me, Lovi" he whispers to me, fire flickering in his deep, green eyes "If you do, I might fall out from this awful thing. I'll be left in the dust. With people wondering what happened. Lovi!" is he panicking or is it just my imagination? The corner of my lip twitches, but I try to suppress it. He's dangerous. It's easy to smile when I'm with him. That's dangerous.

"Okay" I agree. So I keep holding his hand and trying to stop the smile from appearing on my face. I can't help but wonder why Kiku is doing that. Why he told us to hold hands. I don't think it's fair to present us as a team and then throw into arena to kill each other mercilessly.

The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Center. Our horses pull the chariot right in front of President Edelstein's mansion and we come to a halt. Around us, on their seats, are the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Even though they all wear expensive jewels and clothes, have the best make up covering their whole bodies, they still look like damned clowns to me. They should be the main attraction of the Games, not us. The music ends.

The president, a middle-height man in his eighties, with brown hair that are surely dyed, because there's no way an old fart like him could maintain his natural hair color up this age, gives the official welcome from the balcony above us. It's traditional to, during his speech, cut away to the faces of the listening tributes. It's easy to notice that District Twelve is getting much more attention and airtime than the other districts. The darker it becomes outside, the harder it is to look away from us and our flickering capes and headdresses. When the national anthem begins to play, the cameras take the effort and scan other pairs of tributes, but they quickly come back to us. Even as our chariot is doing a final round around the City Center, we are visible on the screens.

The doors of the Training Center have just shut behind us, but our prep teams are already around us, praising us and babbling away about how amazing and gorgeous we looked out there. I decide to take a glance and other people, and am not really surprised to see that many of them are shooting us dirty looks. It just confirms my suspicions that we've outshone them all. Something catches me off guard though. The girl from Eleven, the same one that got my attention a few times before, is smiling as her green eyes look at me and tomato bastard. Then the madman and Kiku are here, helping us down from the chariots, carefully removing our capes and headdresses. Yao opens an enormous bag and takes out a canister. She sprays an invisible substance on the burning clothes and the fire slowly dies out. I realize I'm still glued to Antonio and force my stiff fingers to open. Damn, why the hell did I hold him so tight. My whole hand hurts now. We both massage our drained from blood hands.

"Gracias for holding me tightly, Lovi. If it weren't for you, I'd fall out for sure. I was getting so shaky there!" Antonio says, laughing quietly.

"It didn't show. I'm sure no one noticed" I say "Stupid bastard" I throw in for a good measure, just to remind him that he is, indeed, a bastard. Because he is.

"Oh Lovi, you're hurting me so!" he exclaims, holding both of his hands to his chest. He opens his eyes and looks at me "I'm sure that they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often, you know. You look awfully cute and attractive in them" he says "They suit you" the words are murmured into my ear. His hot breath tingles my ear and blood rushes to my cheek. I turn to glare at him, but he catches me off guard yet again. A sweet, genuine smile is sprawled across his face, with just the right touch of shyness. It makes me blush even more.

A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be stupid, I remind myself. He is trying to kill you. He just fucking killed you in his head in some brutal way. The friendlier he acts, the more deadly he is. The 'nice' ones are always the most cruel. He wants to make you an easy prey by pretending to be your friend. Don't be stupid, you idiotic self!

But because two can play this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek briefly, right on the bruise. It's just that, well, fuck him, because he blushed. So I blushed right back. God, I hate stupid bastards, I think as I lower my head to hide my red face.

Wang Jia Long [Wang Leon] (Hong Kong) as Venia

Im Yong Soo (South Korea) as Flavius

Wang Mei (Taiwan) as Octavia

Honda Kiku (Japan) as Cinna

Wang Yao (China) as Portia

Roderich Edelstein (Austria) as president Coriolanus Snow.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the characters, they belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei. Hunger Games series belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Chapter 6: Avox Girl

The training center is a big building, designed especially for the tributes and their teams. The ground floor looks very refined and luxurious, but I suppose that the whole building is similar. This will be our home until the actual Games begin. We will train here, strengthen our minds, bodies and learn various tricks. Throwing spears, tying knots, jumping, running, camouflage. Everything. Anything. They'll probably have bows and arrows to, but I won't touch them. They can't know what I'm good at and what I royally suck at. The groups will be formed. I'm certain that those jackasses from One, Two and Four will form an alliance this year again. They always do. Shitty bastards.

We step into the elevator. It will take us to the ground where we'll be staying. Each district has its' own ground dedicated just for them. To get there, you simply need to get into the lift, press the correct number and you're already headed to your destination. It's my third time riding an elevator. The first two were back home. One, when I had to go and receive the medal for my father's death. And the second time happened yesterday, when I said goodbye to my friends and family. Was it really only one day ago though, I wonder. It feels like so much longer.

The elevator in the Justice Building back in Twelve is dark, squeaks like a bird that is being murdered, smells like a fucking sour milk and moves about as fast as a snail. Or Gilbert after he wakes up. The elevator here, though, is totally different. The walls are made of crystal and the floor is see-through. I look down and see people below me shrink more and more. They look like ants, but perhaps this term is too nice to describe these bastards. Ants are workaholics, while these Capitol fuckers are just lazy fools, doing nothing but wasting air. Still, the feeling of getting higher and higher is amazing and I'm tempted to ask Feliks to let me ride this thing again. But that seems too Feliciano like, and everything that is Feliciano like is pretty childish. Unless it's Gilbert like. Then it's childish AND stupid, which describes this situation better than Feli's dumbness.

It turns out that Feliks Łukasiewicz's duty did not finish when we arrived to the Capitol. It's quite the opposite, really. He, as well as Carlos, will be staying with us until we go out into the arena. In a way that's a big plus. He's a very annoying person, but not exactly a bad human being. He's acting the way he was taught to act, even though that's quite an irritating attitude he's got. But he knows everyone in the Capitol that is someone. Unlike Carlos, who we haven't seen since our arrival at the station, Feliks has been making an effort to find us sponsors. He's been going all around the place and talking to important people, telling them that supporting us is a good idea. It's easy to see that he's please that he's got us. We're the first tributes he's ever chaperoned that have made such a big uproar, so he's quite happy with us. Again, unlike Carlos, who is probably passed out somewhere. Dumb tutor.

"I, like, told them a lot about you" Feliks says, his smile so wide it's about to touch his ears. "I've been very mysterious, though. It will, like, totally make them even more interested in you" he grins, squinting his eyes in self appreciation.

"Plus this stupid mentor of yours, Carlos, like, hasn't tell me anything about your plan or strategy. But I've done my best with the information I, like, had. How Lovino sacrificed himself in order to help his poor, little brother. Oh, that was totally touching, I tell you. How you've been making bread your whole life and, like, couldn't find time to dress up in cute things!" he points to Antonio, who looks absolutely terrified. Somehow, imagining him in a pink ribbon that seemed to be the newest fashion in the Capitol, almost made me snicker. Almost. "And, obviously, how you two successfully managed to, like, overcome the cruelness and barbarism of your district!

I quirk an eyebrow. Barbarism? Seriously? It's quite ironic, coming from a person that's preparing us for slaughter. What the fuck is he basing our success on anyway? Looking pretty? Our table manners? I seriously doubt holding a fork properly will save my life.

"Like, everyone has their own reservations, naturally. They started saying crap that you are from coal miner district and, like, aren't attention worth. I got so mad! But then a brilliant idea came to me! So I cleverly told them, listen, I told them 'If you work on it hard enough, like, even coal can turn into beautiful pearls!'. Wasn't that super clever of me?" I exchange confused looks with Antonio. Coal turning into pearls is bullshit. It can't turn into something so beautiful no matter how hard you work on it. Pearls grow inside the shellfish. In District One they can turn graphic into something, beautiful, but those aren't pearls either. The ones they produce in One are called 'diamonds'. Very sharp but amazingly enchanting. But still, they don't make it out of ordinary coal. They make it from graphite, which we don't have back home. Mining graphite was a job of people in District Thirteen before it was destroyed. I wonder if other people from Capitol even know it, even bothered to find out, or are they as ignorant as Feliks? To my surprise, tomato bastard starts laughing and praising Capitol man for such a great idea. Two faced son of a bitch.

"Unfortunately, only your stupid mentor can sign sponsor deals for you, so even though I, like, really want to get you as many contracts as possible, I can't" Feliks says, pouting and looking into the distance. Gilbert's mom would often do that as well. It has always made me wonder if people are looking at these dear to them that are already deceased, searching for an answer. I nearly make a little jump when Feliks' face suddenly snaps towards me "But you needn't worry, skarbie! I'll get him to the table if it means I, like, have to drag his ass through the desert!" he grins again.

Although he definitely lacks in many departments, for example common sense, normality, being non-irritating and all of this, Feliks Łukasiewicz has a certain determination that I have to admire.

My quarters are much bigger than my entire house back home. Everything is fluffy, puffy, fucking girly but overall comfortable and soft in touch. There are also thousands of little buttons, and I realize that I probably won't have time to push all of them, because god fucking dammit, there are thousands. As I enter the bathroom and look at the shower, I notice a next fuckload of curious looking little buttons that just ask to be pushed. I undress and step in, my eyes scanning all the options I can chose. Regulating water temperature and pressure, soaps and salts of over three hundred scents, massaging sponges, shampoos and oils. I push some of the buttons. It's not like I've became a maniac about these stupid tomatoes, but I am kind of interested in how I will smell after stepping out of the shower after washing myself with tomato scented soap, I reassure myself. And then I realize that I'm talking with myself again, which is damn unhealthy.

As I step out on the mat, heaters come out of nowhere and blow-dry my entire body. I turn to look in the direction they appeared from and notice some more buttons. I push one more and, in an instant, automatic robot hands are untangling my hair and drying them. Everything happens in mere seconds, and no longer than three minutes after finishing showering.

I program the closet for an outfit that I will be comfortable in. I can zoom in and out on all parts of the city as long as I press the button near the window. To get food, I only need to approach a small mic and whisper the name of the dish, for it to appear in a minute right before my eyes, still hot and steamy and very delicious. As a delicious plate of pasta appears, I realize that the lives in the Capitol and in my own District are like heaven and hell. I finish eating and suddenly, there's a knock. Feliks came to pick me up for dinner.

Good.

Antonio, Kiku and Yao are standing out on a balcony that hovers over all these buildings, that stands above the Capitol and yet still is a part of it. I can't help but notice how close Kiku and Yao are standing, their shoulders touching, and I feel a bit envious. Even though neither of them told me, it's as simple as night and day. They are in love with each other. I'm envious, because they have managed to find a precious person, they fell in love with each other mutually, and they can lead a happy life here, because it's the Capitol. Me, I could never afford that, not even if I survive this hell. Falling in love is impossible for me.

All three of them turn around when they see me, and a wide smile appears on tomato bastard's face. He skips towards me, fucking skips!, and stops right before me. His eyes go wide and his eyebrows furrow and I wonder if his brain has finally melted, before he starts sniffing me.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I yell, taking a few steps back. A grin comes back to his face and he's insane, definitely insane, because no normal person would go around sniffing people.

"Lovi, you smell wonderfully! Like a sweet, ripe tomato that you resemble" my face pinks up ever so slightly. Who the fucking fuck goes around sniffing people and calling them tomatoes?! I send my best glare at that bread bastard and both of our stylists, because they're giggling and that's annoying.

We enter the dining room and I make sure to sit far away from that perverted tomato bastard, because sitting next to him would a torture. I'm glad that our stylists are with us, because I heard that Carlos will be making an appearance and dinner with only him and Feliks would be an absolute torture and disaster. Also, dinners aren't time to be eating. It's the time to make plans and strategies for our survival. And both, Yao and Kiku have already proven how valuable and trustworthy they are.

A silent young man comes in and offers us steamed wine. I'm about to refuse, because I hate all kinds of alcohol, but then I think if there will ever be a chance for me to drink it again. We don't have something like that back home, unless you count some of the alcohol mother uses to disinfect her patients' wounds. I take a sip of the wine and quickly put the glass down. It takes a lot of my effort to keep the drink in my mouth and not spit it out right there. It's disgusting and bitter. Adding a few spoonfuls of honey wouldn't hurt, really. I push the glass far away from me, which earns me a chuckle from Kiku. Bastard.

Carlos shows up just as the dinner is being served. I nearly spit out my soup. His hair is combed and tied in a neat ponytail. He's wearing a suit that looks surprisingly good at him. He looks as if he's had his own stylist, because of his civil appearance. Also, the thing that is probably the most shocking, he is sober, and I realize that it's my first time not seeing him drunk. He accepts the wine, but takes only little sips, and even pushes the glass away when he starts eating the soup. It's also my first time seeing him actually eat something. Maybe he'll actually be able to help us, I think.

Having Yao and Kiku over at dinner was a very good decision. They have a civilizing effect on Carlos and Feliks, because the two of them hasn't thrown even one insult at each other yet. Better, they have actually been addressing each other by their own names and even offering a smile to one another sometimes. And they both have nothing but praise for our stylist for making us look so enchanting during the opening ceremony. As they continue their chit-chat, I focus on my food. The mushroom soup is absolutely delicious, and the noodles with green sauce, cheese and small tomatoes tastes like heaven. Honestly though, do they have some sort of unhealthy addiction to tomatoes in Capitol or something, because so far, practically every meal has been with these fruits. Or are they vegetables?

All of the servants circling around us are young and dressed in similar white shirts, always keeping our plates and glasses full. When they notice that my glass of wine is pushed far away from me, one of them places another one in front of me and pours in some water, which I'm really grateful for. I catch Antonio's eyes on me again. Creepy bastard, thinking how to kill me even now, I think.

I try to focus on the talk, which has turned into a conversation about our interview clothes, when a pretty girl sets a gorgeous cake in front of me. She takes out a lighter from a pocket and simply lights the cake, making it stand in the flames. I watch sweet treat lying on the table with suspicious eyes, when the small fire finally dies out "What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" I ask, looking up at the girl "I don't really want to eat something with- hey, you look familiar" I say.

I have no idea when or under what circumstances, but I definitely remember her. Silky black hair, tied in a long ponytail, with a fringe partly covering her beautiful dark eyes. Striking features and porcelain white skin. There's no way I could forget a woman as beautiful as that. But even though I utter the words, I can't help but feel anxious around her. Guilty and sadness seem to bloom in the pit of my stomach, and I realize that the girl must have been associated with some negative event in my life. I stare at her and an expression of absolute terror crosses her pale face. She shakes her head and runs out, and it only adds to be concern and uneasiness.

I catch all four adults staring at me with worried eyes. I wonder what's their problem.

"Stop being ridiculous, Lovino! Like, how could you possibly know an Axon such herself?" Feliks snaps, slamming his hands against the table. It's the first time he got so mad at me "Like, how could even think about something like that!"

"What the hell's an Avox?" I ask stupidly, staring at them in confusion. It feels like a negative word, I think.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut off her tongue to prevent her from speaking. It's a form of punishment. "says Carlos, his eyes not leaving me even for a second. It's a tad creepy "She's probably a traitor. Not likely you know her, eh, brat?"

"And even if you'd, like, know her, you are forbidden from talking to her! You can only give her orders. "Feliks, says, puffing out his cheeks" Which doesn't change the fact that you totally don't know her, like, at all"

But I fucking do know her. And as soon as Carlos mentioned the word 'traitor' I remembered from where. Suddenly, I feel very nauseous and cold, the uneasiness and disapproval so high I could never admit it. It's almost like I'm being drowned, really "No… no, I guess I don't. I just, I…" I stammer, feeling like a fool. Think!, I yell at myself, think about something quickly!"

Antonio snaps his fingers "Toris Laurinaitis, that's who it is! I thought that she looked really familiar as well! And then I realized that she could practically be Toris' twin sister! They look identical" he's grinning, looking straight into my eyes.

Toris is a boy my age. He has big, bright green eyes and brown hair reaching his shoulders, with his fringe a fair amount of space away from the eyes. He's taller and quite lumpy, plus he always looks like he's worrying about something. All in all, he looks about as similar to our servant, as a frog does to a bird. Toris, even though he constantly wears that worrisome expression, smiles just as often. He even smiles when he sees me, which is rare, because most of the people at school either hate me or are afraid of me. Or both. And the Avox girl, I've never seen her smiling, not even once. But I jump on tomato bastard's suggestion gratefully "Of course, that's who I've been thinking of, too! She's really similar, huh? It must be the hair" I say.

"Mm, something about the eyes too. They sparkle like little coal pearls!" what the fuck is a coal pearl, tomato bastard?

The atmosphere at the table relaxes instantly. Damned Antonio, adding stuff to my debt to him. When the hell am I suppose to say 'thanks' for all these things? While I'm stabbing him with a spear or something just as awful? Fucking peachy.

"Ah, If that's all then alright" Kiku says, offering me a little smile. "And yes, Lovino-kun, the cake has spirits. Or more like had, really. They have all burnt down when the cake was set on fire. I ordered it especially to celebrate your fiery debut out there, Antonio-san, Lovino-kun"

We eat the cake and move into the sitting room. They are broadcasting the reply of the opening ceremonies. A few other couples from other districts make quite an impression, but none of them can beat us. Not even a couple from District Two, which has the prettiest female of this year's Games. But still, they have nothing on us. Even our own party let's out an enthusiastic 'Aah!' when they show us leaving the Remake Center.

"The hand holding. Whose idea was that?" Carlos turns to us.

"Kiku's" Yao says with a proud smile, squeezing my stylist's hand. Kiku's cheeks turn red, which is very amusing. And he was making fun of me for blushing easily, while he's the one, who reacts like that to a mere hand squeeze. Interesting.

"Great job, brat. Just a perfect touch of rebellion" Carlos grins, patting Kiku's shoulder. I guess the 'pat' must have been very strong, because my stylist winces. "Very nice"

I think about what he has said just now. Rebellion? It takes me some time to realize what exactly that drunkard meant. We were the only couple, that was holding hands. Other tributes stood stiffly in the same carriage, as far apart from each other as possible. Pretending that their partners did not exist, that's how it looked. Like the games had already begun and they had already became enemies. That's what Carlos meant by us holding hands as a sign of rebellion. We looked like the best of friends, ready to help each other anytime. An illusion that we'll group together in the Games. Disguising us as friends distinguished us as much as the fiery costumes.

"Tomorrow morning is your first training session, spunky brat and happy idiot!" I twitch at the nickname, but keep my mouth shut "Yer gonna meet me for breakfast tomorrow and I'll tell you exactly how I want to play it. Got it?" Antonio and I nod. I have to hold back my snicker, because tomato bastard is pouting after being called a 'happy idiot' "Good. Now scram and get some sleep, because the grown-ups have to talk!" Kiku waves at me and I nod back. He's a weird guy, that sneaky bastard.

Antonio and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms. We keep quiet, neither of us bothering to start a conversation. It's rare, because whenever I'd see tomato bastard at school, his mouth would be working at the speed of light. Even during that short time when we've been together, he'd usually keep talking to me. When we get to my room, he leans against my door frame, successfully blocking me from entering and drawing all my attention to him. Fucking attention whore. "So, Toris Laurinaitis, eh? Who would have thought someone that could practically be his twin sister would be here. Right?" He's asking for an explanation, and I'm really tempted to tell him. Since he covered for me and I'm indebted to him, I guess he deserves as much. But it does not change the fact that he's a tomato bastard that has already planned my death carefully in his sick head. But how could telling him a story hurt me anyway? Even if he ended up repeating it to someone, it wouldn't do me any harm. Plus he's lied just as much as me about her resembling Toris. Plus I really want to talk to someone about the girl, I realize. Someone, who would help me figure out what happened to her after that incident.

If I had to pick one person, it would obviously be Gilbert. We've shared so many secrets and worries already, he's a person I trust the most. A person I know would never betray me, because he's too fucking dumb and loyal to do this kind of thing. But I doubt I'll ever see Gil again. I try to think of a way me telling tomato bastard about the Avox girl could give him an advantage over me in the games, but I can't see any. Maybe if I tell him about her, he'll believe that I see him as a friend and let his guard down.

Besides, the image of the girl, whose tongue was cut off, reminded me exactly what I'm doing here and what my place is. I didn't come here to present flashy costumes, play fakes with the audience and eat delicious food. I came here to die a bloody death, while the crowd cheers on my killer. I came here to be a killer as well. To leave a trail of blood on a path, to make more tributes come near me so that I could kill them mercilessly. I'm not here for fun.

Should I tell him? Should I not? I hesitate, looking at the dark corridor, as if all the answers to my questions were lying there. He picks up my hesitation.

"Hey, Lovi, have you been to the roof yet?" I shake my head, looking at him suspiciously "Kiku showed it to me earlier. The view there is really amazing! You can practically see the whole city, you know. Ah, but the wind is a bit loud though"

I easily translate it into 'No one will hear us' in my head. It certainly feels like we could be under constant surveillance over there.

"Can we really go out there?"

"Of course! Come on, Lovi!" he takes my hand and starts pulling me behind. He lets go only when we reach the stairs to the roof, and I yell at my brain to shut up, because it was complaining about my hand getting cold. Fucking brain.

We step into a cold and strong wind. It is really nice, I notice briefly, before the sight makes my eyes go wide. It's beautiful. The Capitol twinkles like hundreds of little fireflies. Unlike District Twelve, they have a constant steam of light. Back at home, electricity would come and go, never staying for long periods of time. We got used to not having it. When my mother wanted to read books in the evening, we'd light up a candle. It would be our only source of light. Honestly, the only time when you can count on having electricity twenty four hours a day is when the Games are airing, or when an important message from Government is being played in TV, and whose are always mandatory. But there would be no shortage. Not here, not in the Capitol. Not ever.

Antonio and I walk to a railing at the end of the roof. I look straight down, observing the sparkling dots on the ground, people hurrying and talking with each other, cars rushing by, leaving after them only a strange metallic sound. They're so loud and so lively. Back home, everyone would be already thinking of going to sleep.

"I asked Kiku why they let us come here. If they weren't afraid that the tributes would see their savior in death and just jump down right here" says Antonio.

"And? What did that fucked up bastard answer?" tomato bastard laughs at my insult and turns to face me, his eyes sparkling in the night light.

"You can't" he holds out his hand into a seemingly empty place. It comes right back with a weird buzz. My eyes widen. I know that sound "There's an electric field. If you jump down, it will throw you right back"

"Always worried about out safety, huh?" I say sarcastically. Even though Kiku has shown this place to tomato bastard, I wonder if we really can be up here, and so late to the boot. I've never seen districts on the roof before, and I've lived through quite some of them already. But that doesn't mean that we're not being taped. Those Capitol bastards probably have these fucking cameras everywhere, sometimes just to humiliate a tribute, but mostly to keep an eye on us. "Do you think they're watching us right now?"

"Maybe they do" Antonio admits "But there's no use for us worrying about it, right? Come on, I'll show you a garden. It's very pretty" he's basically Gilbert kind of an idiot.

On the other side of the dome, they've built a garden full of colorful flower beds and potted trees. It is quite a sight to see, I have to admit. It looks very beautiful. From the hundreds of branches hang thousands of wind chimes. This pretty much explains the tingling I've heard before. It's easy to drown out two people who try not to be heard over here, with the strong, hissing wind and tingling chimes. Tomato bastards look at me expectantly and I sigh. There's no way I could postpone this story to later, I think to myself. I turn my eyes to the flowers and pretend to watch them, when I start telling him everything "We were hunting in the woods one day. We hid in the bushes and waited for a game to appear, be it a deer or a rabbit or anything else that is eatable" I whisper, part of me desperately hoping that he won't hear. For a moment I think he doesn't, because he moves closer to me, our shoulders touching. A shiver runs down my spine and I damn well hope that it's from the cold. But then he crushes my hopes.

"You and your father?" he whispers back

"No. Me and Gil. I mean Gilbert. Suddenly, all the birds stop singing at once except for one, as if it was warning us against the upcoming danger. And then we saw her. She was holding hands with a boy that was probably her brother. I'm sure it was her, I could never forget her. Both of them had dark circles under their eyes. It was obvious they lacked sleep. Their clothes were tattered and dirty. I didn't take us, me and Gil, a long time to figure out that they were running away from something. And that they were running as fast as if their lives depended on it, even though they were so exhausted" I say and take a deep breath.

For a moment I'm silent as I recall the events of that day. How the sight of the strange pair, a boy and a girl, who were clearly not from District Twelve, a pair of young people fleeing through the woods, had immobilized Gil and I. Later, after everything was finished and we had no chance of turning time, we were wondering if we could have helped them escape. Perhaps we might have. Most likely we could have. If we moved quickly, we'd probably had saved them. Gil and I were taken by surprise, yes, but we're hunters, both of us. We know how animals look at bay, when they're running away from their predators. We knew the pair was in big trouble as soon as we've seen them. But we did nothing. We just observed, like two assholes that we are.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere" I continue, lowering my voice even more. Antonio leans in to hear me better. Usually I'd feel really self-conscious and defensive about this situation, because our cheeks were practically touching. But this time, I couldn't concentrate on that. I could only think of that one day such a long time ago "I mean... one moment the sky was empty, not even a tiny cloud was there, and the next it just appeared there out of nowhere. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. They saw it" I repeat a little bit louder, before lowering my voice again "Suddenly, the net dropped on the girl from the hovercraft and carried her up, fast. As fast like the elevator in this damned prison. The boy… they shot some kind of a spear through him. It was attached to a cable and they pulled him up as well, but I'm sure he was dead. He must have been, with his eyes so lifeless. We heard the girl scream once. His name, I think. It was a painful scream. Then it was gone. The hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. The birds started to sing again. It was almost as if nothing had happened. Everything returned to normal" I say bitterly, glaring at the stars above us.

"Did they see you?" Antonio's voice is quiet and full of concern, his hot breath tickling my cheek. He's worried, I think, but the thought is so stupid I cast it away quickly. There's no way he would be truly worried about me.

"I have no idea. We were under a shelf of rocks. So they probably haven't" I reply.

It's a lie though. I know that they have seen us. There was a moment, after the birdcall, but before the hovercraft's appearance, where the girl had seen us. Our eyes, mine and her, had locked. She called out to us, begging to help her and her fiancé. Her voice was desperate. But neither I nor Gilbert responded to her. We just sat there and watched as the tragedy happened right before our eyes.

"You're shivering" Antonio says, touching my cheek. I freeze at the action. I'm confused, really. What will he achieve by touching my cheek? Transfer all his body warmth to me? But I have to admit that his hand does bring a certain warmth to the left side of my face.

The wind and the story had both blown away all the warmth from me. The girl's scream, has it been her last?

Antonio takes off his jacket and tries to wrap it around my shoulders. I step back, because no, fuck you, that would be girly you stupid tomato bastard, but his kind smile makes me stop and think again. A friend would probably accept that. Both, his jacket and the kindness. He approaches me and places the jacket around me.

"Were they from here?" he asks, as he secures a button around my neck. I wonder for a moment why he likes being close to me so much, but it's too bothersome to try and understand him.

I nod as the answer for his question. Both of them had that Capitol look about them.

"Then, where do you think they were going?" he asks.

"I don't know" I answer honestly. And really, I don't. District Twelve is pretty much the end of the line. After us there is only the wildness and the ruins from District Thirteen, which are still smoldering from the toxic bombs. They sometimes show it to us in the TV, just as a friendly reminder of what happened to the rebels and their previous home. "Or why they would run away from here, I don't know that either" Carlos has called the Avoxes traitors. But traitors against what? The Capitol? Must have been. There isn't anything else they could be traitors towards. But why would they want to go against their homeland, the Capitol? Why would they try to run away to nowhere, if they had everything in here? They had no reason to rebel, really.

"I would leave here" tomato bastard blurts out. Then he looks around nervously, because his voice managed to make that once sentence loud enough to make it hearable even through the strong wind and the chimes. Suddenly, he starts to laugh "I'd go home right now if they let me, and continue to bake bread back in District Twelve. But you have to admit, Lovi, the food here is genial"

He's covered again. If that was all you'd have heard, it would sound like the words of a scared tribute. Nothing more, nothing less. No one would even dare to suspect that he was just telling me how he'd leave the Capitol. He's dangerous, I decide. Very dangerous. He might look dumb and act like an idiot at times, but he's smart, which makes him a terrible opponent. He'll be the pray that will be thinking and trying to hunt me down before I can kill him. If I'm not careful, I might be the one he kills first, not the other way around.

"It's getting chilly. Plus it's quite late. Let's go back inside, Lovi" he says. Inside the dome it's very warm and bright. We're walking slowly. "So, your friend Gilbert. Is he the one that took your sister away during the reaping?" his tone is conversational, but there's also an emotion in it I can't quite find a right word to describe. It's an unpleasant one though, and strangely, it seems to be stronger whenever that damned albino bastard's name is mentioned.

"Yeah. Do you know him?" I ask. It wouldn't be a surprise if tomato bastard actually did know Gilbert. It wouldn't be especially surprising if Gilbert had done something stupid to him, and thus the unpleasant emotion in tomato bastard's voice.

"No, not really. But I hear the girls talking about him a lot. My sister had a crush on him, I think. I thought he was your cousin though. He's together with you a lot, after all. You also seem very comfortable around each other" he says and I must admit, I am quite shocked. Do we really look that comfortable with each other? No wonder the girls shot me dirty looks, they probably thought I was gay for that stupid, annoying, albino bastard and vice versa.

"No, we're not related" I reply.

Antonio nods, his face unreadable, but there's something off about him. "Did he come to say goodbye to you?" how the fuck is it any of his business?

"Yeah, and?" I say, observing him carefully "Your father did, too. He brought me cookies"

He raises his eyebrows as if the thing I told him just now was something he's heard for the first time. But after seeing him lie so smoothly so many times, it doesn't bother me much. "Really? Well, he likes you and your little brother a lot. He sometimes joked that he wished we would express our love towards him and mother just like you and your hermanito" The idea that I and Feli have been discussed, around the table at the bakery, near the fire, with the whole family gathered, gives me a start. The conversation must have happened when Antonio's mother was not around.

"He knew your mother when they were kids" Antonio continues.

It's another surprise. I've never heard about it, but it's probably the truth. My mother was, how she liked to say in the past 'Merchant by blood, but your father's by choice'. "Yeah. She grew up in town" I say. Honestly, she's never said anything about tomato bastard's father other than complimenting his bread, but somehow saying that seems too impolite.

When we reach my door, I give him back the jacket. "See you in the morning then, bastard"

"Buenas noches, Lovi" he says, and walks off down the hall.

When I open the door, the black-haired girl is collecting the clothes and boots from where I left them on the floor before taking a shower. I want to apologize for possibly getting her in trouble earlier, because of the silly words I have uttered by mistake, but then I remember that I'm not suppose to talk with her, unless I'm giving her orders.

"Sorry. I was supposed to take these back to Kiku" I say "Could you please take them to him? I'm sorry for the trouble" I feel weird apologizing like that, but she's a woman that deserves all of my apologies and respect.

She doesn't look at me, looking anywhere but at me, and gives me a curt nod, before heading out the door.

I wanted to tell her, that I was sorry about the situation during dinner. But I know that my apology would be so much deeper. That I'd be trying to apologize for not helping her that day. I never tried to help her. I just watched as it happened. I just let it happen. And I didn't even feel especially emotional after the whole incident. Just like when I watched the games, she was just another person killed by the Capitol.

I kick of my shoes and climb under the covers in my clothes. The shivering didn't stop. It only got fucking worse and I know the reason why. Maybe she doesn't remember me, my mind tries to help me. But I know she does. There's no way she would forget the face of someone, that was her last hope. Someone, who was her last hope and yet didn't help her, but watched with cold eyes as everything happened. I pull the covers up over my head, trying to hide from her cold, black eyes, staring at me accusingly. The girl with black hair that is unable to speak. I can feel her stare pierce through the walls, through the doors and through the bedding. I feel like a fool, because I know there's no way she could possibly do something like that, but I can still feel her eyes on me.

I wonder if she'll enjoy watching me die. Because I sure as hell would.

~Information~

Skarbie – pl. 'dear'

Hermanito – sp. 'little brother'

Buenas noches – sp. 'Goodnight'

Thao Loan Nguyen [Vietnam] as Avox Girl, Lavinia

Kasem Angsakul [Thailand] as Avox Girl's brother/fiancé

Toris Laurinaitis [Lithuania] as Delly Cartwright


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Self presentation

My night is filled with disturbing nightmares, images I'd rather ignore and forget, erase from my mind once and for all. The black haired Avox girl's face mixes in with the scenes from past Hunger Games, surrounding, painting everything in black and red, despair and death. On the wooden floor in my home back in Twelve, my mother sits on the floor and cries, holding a knife tightly in her arms, ready to stab herself with it. Somewhere in the distance Feliciano is shouting and crying, begging her to stop, begging me to come back. I try to reach out to him, but the scene changes and my movements halt, my voice stuck in my throat. I wake up screaming for my father to run as the mine explodes into billion pieces of charcoal, bodies and light. I pant heavily, turning my face to the window. The dawn is breaking down. Capitol's air is misty, hunted. Disgusting, just like its' citizens. I touch my cheek with my right hand, a grimace forming on my face. I must have bitten the inside of my left cheek during my slumber, as I can feel ragged flesh and blood is still fresh on my tongue. My head aches.

I slowly drag myself out of the bed and into the shower. I must have punched the wrong buttons, because icy cold water splashes across my bare skin. I hiss, trying to find the button that would heat me up a little. Soon a soothing liquid warms me up. Then a heavy, strawberry scented foam assaults me. Some of it gets into my eyes, and I cures under my breath, not at all amused by all of this. I scrape the foam off of my body with a big bristled brush.

When I'm dried, I notice that clothes were left for me. Tight black pants and a simple, long-sleeved tunic, with leather shoes to complete the whole outfit. I smile under my nose and run a hand through my hair, not bothering to comb them or do anything with my curl. It's bouncing on its' own just fine, and I don't see the reason for making it stand any taller or prouder than it already is. It's still just a dumb haircurl. I look in the mirror and nearly sigh with relief. It's the first day since the reaping when I look completely like myself. No fancy clothes, no special hairstyles, not fake personality of being a polite person towards that fucked up Capitol, no flaming capes. Just me, looking like I could be headed to the woods with Gil to badmouth the Games and Panem's president.

That drunkard bastard didn't give us the exact time to meet him for breakfast, but I'm hungry, so I head to the dining room first, hoping that there'll be food waiting for me. I'm not at all disappointed. The room is nearly empty, except for the man, an Avox, standing next to the table with a stoic expression. On the wooden furniture I see at least twenty different dishes, just waiting to be swallowed by hungry people. I ask the man if I can serve myself and he nods, his face emotionless, eyes lifeless. I refrain myself from frowning. Fucking Capitol.

I load the plate with eggs and sausages, slices of pale purple melon, fancy cheese rolls stuffed with vegetables. As I was doing so, someone poured me a full glass of hot milk, which I'm grateful for. I take a sip of the fuming drink and sight with content. Milk and cheese, they both taste a bit differently than the ones I had back home, but it's the closest I'll get, I think. It's the closest I'll get to hang on to something that could remind me of Feli and his goat, and warm mornings in the woods together with Gilbert, eating the treats Feliciano would sometimes leave for us. I shake my head, trying not to think about depressing stuff. I look out the window, observing as the sun slowly makes it way on the horizon, rising with the speed of a turtle. I take a roll, one of the ones that tomato bastard have been eating yesterday, and dip it into the hot chocolate, much like the idiot did on the train. I pray he doesn't come it, because surely, he'd be amused by seeing me doing something similar to him. I definitely don't want to watch that bastard's smug face.

Talking about smug bastards, my mind wanders off to Gilbert, his family, my mother and Feli. Surely all of them have gotten up by now. My little brother is probably milking his goat right now. Or maybe he's already headed to school. Will he even go to school today, I wonder. My mother should be done making breakfast. Gilbert should be back from hunting. Right now he might be trading in the Hob, or maybe he's already left to school, too. Just two mornings ago, I was back home. I would be doing the same things that Gil is doing right now. Can that really be real? It feels false. I wonder what did they say about my fiery debut yesterday? Did it give them hope? Or the complete opposite, it made them fear for me more, seeing all the 24 districts together? There were only about seven females there, weren't there? Unless one of them was a man, just like I suspected. Then there's only six girls and seventeen guys ready to slaughter me, one of them being tomato bastard.

Carlos and Antonio come in and say hello to me. Tomato bastard tries to kiss my cheek, but I quickly punch his face with a glare. Drinking bastard is clearly amused by that. Fucking duo of fucked up bastards, is all I think. I'm irritated that Antonio is wearing the exact same clothing that I am. All this twin act is annoying, and when the Games start, it's only going to get back at us. Then I remember Carlos' words that I have to do everything that the stylists tell me to do. Were it anyone other than Kiku, I'd probably blow a fuse a long time ago already. But remembering yesterday's show, I don't really have a room to criticize my stupid stylist and his decision of making tomato bastard and I act all friendly with each other.

I'm actually nervous about the whole training. For three days, all of the tributes will be practicing and training together, in the same room. Just sitting in the same room as them will make me sick. Memorizing my prey's face is a good idea, that's true, but letting my prey memorize my face and examine my behavior. It doesn't really sound that great. And then, on the fourth day, the Gamemakers will have all of us present our abilities separately. This sucks. I turn the roll in my hand several times, but I'm not hungry anymore.

When the drunkard finally finishes his five portions of stew, he pushed back the plate and takes out a bottle of beer, taking a long sip of it. I must be grimacing, because he sends me a look, as if reminding me we had a deal. He leans his elbow on the table and his eyes look from Antonio to me "Let's get down to business, shall we, ladies?" I growl, glaring at him "Easy there, punk. Training. First off, you want me to coach ya separately or not? Decide now" he says, a lazy smile on his face.

"Why the hell would you coach us separately?" I ask, not really sure if there would be any point to do something like that.

"For example, punk, you have a secret skill you don't want our clumsy idiot over here to know about. That hard to understand?"

I exchange looks with tomato bastard. He has that stupid grin on his face "I don't really have any special skills though. And I already know everything about yours, Lovi. I've eaten enough squirrels to know by now" A thought that tomato bastard or his siblings might have eaten the food that I hunted and then sold their father never, not even once, crossed my mind. I've always imagined the baker to eat them all by himself, frying them up on a frying pan at the break of down. Not out of greed, but because merchant families usually ate more expensive food, like beef or horse meat.

"You ate the squirrels?" I ask, quirking my eyebrow. He grins and nods his head vigorously.

"Of course. They were super delicious. Dad shared them only me though. Not like hermano João or hermana Isabella would have eaten them anyway. And don't worry, mom never knew" he winked, showing me that toothy smile of his. Fool.

"Enough flirting, brats. Answer my question, ya?" I glare at him and open my mouth to hiss that I am not flirting with that twat, but Antonio beats me to it.

"Aww, we're not flirting. We're conversing, sí?"

"You can coach us together" I grumble, and tomato bastard nods happily. Fucking bastard.

"Mm, alright. Always want to be together, doncha, brats?" I smack his head, irritated that both of these bastards keep on giggling like my little brother. "Fine, tell me what ya can do"

"I can't do anything" says Antonio, shrugging "Unless it's baking bread. Then I'm pretty sure no one can beat me" Carlos looks at him with a deadpanned expression.

"Sure, stuff your opponent with bread, kid. Think of something else. Spunky, little brat, what can ya do? I already know you're handy with knife. Any other secret skills?" he turns to me, sending me a long stare.

"I'm not handy with knife. But I can hunt" I say, keeping his gaze "With bow and arrows"

"And you're good?" he asks, taking another sip of his beer.

I have to think about it. I have been providing food for my mother, little brother and myself for four years already. It's not an easy task. I'm not as good as my father was, but it's obvious. He had a better build and had much more practice. I have better aim than Gilbert, but that's only because I'm more patient when it comes to praying, and my hand is as steady as a tree. Plus I, too, have had more practice than he had. He's better with traps and snares though "I'm alright" I say finally. Carlos doesn't look excited at my answer.

"He's excellent" Antonio says, his voice strong and confident "My father has been buying squirrels from his for a long time now. He always comments on how great they are. Lovi never pierces the body with his arrows. The squirrels always get it in the eye. Just like the rabbits that he gives to the butcher. He told me. He can even bring down a deer. It's pretty amazing, if you ask me, amigo"

I gape at my fellow tribute with open mouth. I didn't think he'd try to tell Carlos that I'm good. I didn't even think he noticed me, let alone my skills. "What are you doing, bastard?" I ask suspiciously, eyeing him with unsure eyes.

"What are you doing, Lovi? He asked for your ability, and since you were underrating yourself, I helped you out. He wants to help you" he said lightly.

For a reason unknown to even me, it ticks me off. So I snap. "Well what about you then, tomato bastard?" I ask accusingly, glaring at him "I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-ton bags with flour. Tell him that! I don't think it counts as 'nothing'"

"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of flour bags for me to chalk at people. Don't be silly, Lovi. You can handle a weapon. I can't. Throwing bags doesn't count, you know it doesn't" he shoots back, an angry blush forming on his face.

"That bastard can wrestle" I tell Carlos, who looks positively amused. If I weren't so into my argument with that fucked up tomato lover, I would have already punched my mentor "He came in second in our school's wrestling competition last year, the first one being his older brother"

"Lovi, what is use in that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle another person to death? That's disgusting" his voice got a sharp tune of anger to it. It must be my first time hearing it.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat, you fucker! If someone comes out from behind you, you can always wrestle free and stab them instead. While me, if they get me from my back, I'm dead!" my own voice starts rising in anger, and I briefly wonder if it's time for us to kill each other.

"But you won't, Lovino! You won't die! You'll be living happily on some tree, eating raw squirrels and piercing people with arrows. You know, when my mother came to say goodbye to me, she said cheerfully 'You know, Twelve might finally have a winner this year'. I don't know if she wanted to cheer me up, but it was quite depressing, because she meant you, Lovino. You, not me" Antonio bursts out, holding my gaze, his eyes as fired up as mine.

"Oh please, she meant you for sure" I wave my hand dismissively. There's no way a mother would tell her own child that someone else would win.

"Oh, she meant you, Lovi. She said 'He's a savior, that kid. Takes after his late father. A fighter'. Late father, Lovino. Her husband, and my father, is alive" Antonio says bitterly.

That pulls me up short. I can't believe that there would be a bitchy enough mother to rate someone else over her own son. I'm angry and confused, and I don't know what to say. I look into his eyes and notice hurt in these beautiful green pools. He's not lying. Not with a look like that. Suddenly, I feel as though I'm behind the bakery again, and I can feel a cold rain running down my spine, the hollowness in my belly informing me of my unbearable hunger. I sound like my eleven years old self when I speak again "Only because someone helped me" it's a whisper, but it catches his attention. I can see a twinkle of surprise in his eyes.

He looks at the roll in my hand, and I know that he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you, querido" I have no idea what the last word means, but I brush it off.

"No more than you, bastardo" I say stubbornly.

He rolls his eyes, a small smile appearing on his face. He turns to Carlos "He has no idea. The effect he can have"

He doesn't look at me, almost like he's avoiding my heated gaze. I don't know what he means. What effect. What effect can I have? What does he mean people will help me? No one helped me when I was dying of starvation, no one but him, the kindhearted bastard that he is. I lived thanks to him. Once I was weak, but things changed. I'm not a weakling anymore. I'm a strong-willed hunter, a tough trader. Or am I? What effects do I have? That I'm whiny? That I'm needy? Bitchy? Is he suggesting that I made all the good deals because people pitied me? Because I was my father's son? I try to think if it's true or not. Sure, some of the traders were generous with their pay, but I always thought that it had to do with their relationship with my father. Beside, my game is first class, dammit! No one pitied me. I earned everything with hard work and my skills. I growl at the roll in my hand. Fucking bastard, who does he think he is to insult me?

After about a minute of this, Carlos finally speaks "Well then. Well, oh well. Lovino, punk, there's no guarantee they will have bows and arrows this year. I hope you're aware of that" I nod. Of course I am. There are always chances that all of the tributes will be given only one type of weapon. "But even so, don't forget to show the Gamemakers what you are able to do with these beauties during your private session. If you're real good, they might but bow and arrows in especially for you. Until then, stay clear of archery. We don't want other tributes finding out about your skills, now, do we? Now then, are you any good at traps?"

"I know a few basic snares, if that's what you mean" I murmur under my nose.

"That may be very significant in terms of food. Don't forget" he turns to Antonio "And you, kid. She's right, you know. Don't underestimate raw power when it comes to the Games. Pure power is often a factor of winning a fight. There will be weighs in the Training Center. Don't touch them. Don't revel to your opponents how much you can lift, got it? The plan is the same for both of you. You go to group training and try to learn whatever the hell it is that you can't do. Throw a spear, swing a mace, tie a decent knot. But your special abilities are to be saved for the session with Gamemakers. Do ya understand?" tomato bastard and I nod.

"One last thing. I want you two by each other's side every goddamn minute. Are we clear?" we both start to object, but Carlos slams his fist on the table, which successfully makes us shut up.

"Every minute! It's not open for discussion, whether you like it or not! You promised to do what I say, so now yer gonna obey me! You will be together, ya will appear amiable to each other. Now stop fucking around and get out! Meet that dumb Feliks at the elevator at ten for training. Scram."

I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, slamming my door so hard there's no way tomato bastard doesn't hear. I sit on my bed and punch it with all my strength. Fucking drunkard. Fucking bread bastard! Fucking myself! Why the hell did I have to go and mention about that fucking day? I hate everyone. I hate myself. Goddammit.

I growl into the pillow.

It's such a goddamn joke! Antonio and I pretending to be fucking best friends, hanging off each other's arms, pretending to get along. What next, are they going to tell me that idiot? If they do, fuck this, I'm going to punch all of them. It's all stupid. Everything. Everyone. Talking up each other's strengths, insisting that the other is strong, yelling at each other for underrating themselves. What kind of bullshit is that! At one point, we'll have to drop this act and prepare ourselves mentally for killing each other. Which I would be fucking ready for if it wasn't for Carlos' stupid idea to play friends! I guess it is partly my fault. I should have had told him to coach us separately, then there wouldn't be any of this stuff. Even though I told him it's okay to coach us together, it didn't mean that I wanted to do everything together with tomato bastard. I never asked to be teamed up with him! And clearly, neither did he.

I hear Antonio's voice in my head. He has no idea. The effect he can have. He obviously meant to insult me. There's no idea it was anything else than an insult. Right? But somewhere deep in my head, a voice whispers, that maybe it was meant as a compliment. That maybe he meant that some part of me is appealing enough for people to want to help me. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Everything about me. My hunting. My skills. That I love my brother more than anything else. That Gil is my best friend. He's noticed me. And clearly, I wasn't as obvious to him as I thought I was. The flour. The wrestling. Unconsciously, I kept observing boy with bread. I kept track of him. A mare thought of this makes my face heat up.

It's almost ten. I get up from bed and brush my teeth, staring in the mirror all this time. The anger blocked out my fear for some time, but now that the fateful encounter with other tributes was nearing in, all of the nervousness came back to me. By the time I reach elevator, I catch myself chewing my lip. Damned nerve tic.

The actual training rooms are below ground level our building. With the elevator they have here, the ride there takes less than a minute. When the door open, one of the biggest rooms I've ever seen is materializes in front of me. It's filled with weapons and obstacle courses that we'll be able to use for training. Even though it isn't ten yet, we are the last ones to arrive. All the other tributes are gathered in a tense circle, glaring at each other. All of them have numbers of their districts places on some part of their body. As I notice that, someone pins a '12' on my back. I look at the tributes once again. Just as I suspected, Antonio and I are the only ones dressed in identical clothing.

As we join the tense circle, the head trainer, an athletic, expressionless man named Emil steps up and begins explaining the training schedule to us. There's an expert of every skill, and all of them will be waiting for us at their stations. The tributes are allowed to move as we please, following our mentor's instructions. We are absolutely forbidden from getting into fights or another form of physical, hurtful interaction with other tributes, as doing so would get us a severe punishment from the head Gamemaker. There are various skills that we can learn, both the survival ones as well as the combat ones. Emil begins to read the list consisted of all of these, and I can't help tuning him out. Instead, I let my eyes travel freely, memorizing my opponents' faces. None of them shows fright or any other kind of weak point that I could take advantage of. The guys are huge, and half of them is build much better than I am. They have enough body fat and muscles, both of which I somewhat lack. Even two of the girls look tougher than I do. There is the girl from 2, the platinum haired one, that even though doesn't look especially strong, has one of the coldest eyes I've ever seen. Many of the tributes, though, have never been fed properly. It's easy to see it in their bones and hollow cheeks. I haven't been, either, but I'm better off than they are. I've lived my life as a hunter. I'm good. I might be smaller than some of these bastards, and I might not be as muscled, I'm thin and I'm strong. The meat and plants, and the amount of time it took be to gather those, gave me healthier body than most of the other tributes have.

The exceptions are the kids from One, Two and Four, the wealthier districts that, every year, train their tributes for this exact occasion: Hunger Games. Technically it's against the rules to get training before reaching the Capitol, but it's been going on for ages already. In District Twelve we call them Career Tributes. Or just Careers. No one really likes them much, apart from the Capitol and their own districts.

Even though I don't like it much, the winner will be probably one of these six, maybe even the girl-boy, whose gender I'm not sure about.

The slight advantage I had while entering the gym seems to vanish as soon as blue eyes, which belong to the blond haired boy from 2, lock on me, a devilish smirk creeping onto his boyish face. Other tributes might have been jealous yesterday, but they definitely weren't jealous of Antonio and I. Fuck no, they one they were jealous of were Kiku and Yao. All of the Careers seem to have this aura of brutality and arrogance around them. As soon as Emil releases us to go and train, all of them head straight to the deadliest looking weapons, and handle them with ease.

It's good that I'm a fast runner, I think. Antonio nudges my arm and I jump, quickly turning around to send him a glare. His face is sober, a small smile present there, as always. He's still beside me, just like Carlos instructed.

"Where would you like to begin, cariño?" I have no idea what the fuck was just said, but he's definitely insulting me. I'm sure of it.

I look around and have to prevent myself from rolling eyes at the Careers, who are clearly trying to intimidate everyone by showing off, especially the blue eyes boy from 2. He's the loudest and it appears like he's having an unspoken competition with his partner from District, when both of them throw a spear. Both of these pierce right through the puppets' hearts. The other tributes, the underfed ones, the incompetent ones, are having their first lessons with knives and axes.

"Let's go and tie some knots, bastard" I say, looking at him. He's looking with interest at the axes, and I wonder briefly if he'd like to try handling one. A strange thought crosses my mind and I try to shake it away. There's no way an axe would suit him, goddammit.

"Thee wish is my command, Lovi" I look at him with irritation and he snickers, pulling me by the hand to the empty station. I'm shocked with the sudden contact, but before I can protest or try to free myself, we arrive to the station, where we'll be learning how to tie knots. The master there is very pleased. I suppose that tying knots class isn't really the hot spot of Hunger Games training. When the trainer realizes I know some basic snares, he shows the both of us a simple, yet very effective trap to hang an opponent by his leg. He's very enthusiastic. We concentrate on this one skill for an hour until both of us have mastered it. We move on to a camouflage station. Antonio genuinely seems to enjoy himself here, a huge smile not once leaving his face. I watch with a slightly dumbstruck expression as he prances around, happily covering his arms with a combination of mud, clay and berry juices on his tanned skin. Sometimes he adds vines or leaves to make his disguise more believable, and at one point, he looks like a berry bush. The trainer who runs the station seems very excited and moved that someone loves that skill as much as he does. I can't help but notice how similar are those two. Both are so dumb. Antonio notices my expression, and a hue of red adores his cheeks.

"I do the cakes" he mumbles. I blink, wondering if I heard correctly.

"What?" I ask dumbly, my attention temporarily snatched by the boy from 2, who successfully managed to pierce dummy's heart from 15 meters. Holy shit. "What cakes?"

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery" he says, a nostalgic smile on his face.

He means the ones they display in the windows. The beautiful cakes with flowers and pretty things patterns painted with frosting. They are made for special occasions, such as New Year's or Birthdays, but my family would never be able to afford one of these. They're too expensive. But I know of them, and I often stare at them, which is mostly Feli's fault. Whenever we're in the square, he drags me to the window and points at the cakes, admiring their beauty. I can't deny him that, seeing as there are little to no pretty things in Twelve to look at. It's a surprise that Antonio has been the one making them. Somehow, the thought makes me feel weird in the stomach. I bet it's the potatoes from yesterday. I knew they looked like something Gilbert would love. Eating anything that that bastard loves is a bad idea.

I look at tomato bastard's arm with a scowl. I don't know if he's done it intentionally or not, but nevertheless, the pattern on his arm is pissing me off. The light and dark colors suggest sunlight falling through the leaves in the woods. I have no idea how he knows that view. I don't suppose a bastard like him would have enough guts to get over the fence and enter my paradise, which really makes you wonder how he's seen and memorized such a view. Could he have picked it up from that scraggly old apple pie in his backyard? Why the hell do I even remember that he has an apple tree in his backyard? It annoys me. His skill, those incredible cakes, his bright smile, the praise of the camouflage expert, all these things I remember about him – it annoys me. And it makes me mad at myself, for focusing too much of my attention on him.

"That's so awesome, tomato bastard. It's such an amazing skill. If only you could frost someone to death. I bet whole Panem would stare in wonder at your skills" I say, trying to suppress the smile from my face. Fuck, who told you that you can smile, myself?, I scold myself in my head.

"That's so mean, Lovi! Don't be so superior just because you can handle a few things. You can never guess what you'll find in the area, you know. Say, what if there's actually this gigantic cake waiting for me and-" he starts, his eyes shining with childish excitement that I've seen so often on my little brother's face.

"Say we move on, bastard" I cut in and start walking. I don't have to turn around to know that he's pouting.

The next three days pass with me and Antonio going from station to station, picking up some valuable skills, like starting fire, making a shelter and throwing a knife. We linger on the ax station much more than necessary, because the bastard is enjoying himself too much. He found himself the biggest axe and refused to part with it. He even gave it a name, 'Querida Fortuna'. I have to drag him away, and he keeps on whining about his poor baby being left alone, which is slowly driving me insane.

Him being able to handle such a giant axe made the other tributes curious. Even though that drunkard told us to avoid attention and try to act as harmless as possible, Antonio easily excels in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants contest without blinking an eye. We avoid weightlifting and archery though. We leave these especially for our private sessions.

The Gamemakers appeared early on the first day. Around twenty men and women dressed in purple robes, looking weird as fuck. They sit in the elevated sits, all of them doing different things. Some converse among themselves, others observe us and take notes carefully, but most of them stands next to the table with fuckload of food, and stuff themselves with whatever they have on their plate, which results in ignoring the lot of us. But they do seem to observe District Twelve closely, just like Two. Sometimes when I look up, I can see their eyes fixed on me and my 'best friend' tribute. It might be because of our fiery debut, but I also suspect it's because Antonio and I stick together so closely, never leaving each other's side. It must be new. The Gamemakers consult with the trainers during our meal as well. We see them gathered in a tight group when we come back.

Breakfast and dinner are saved on our floor, but for dinner we have to go to a dining room next to the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room, all of the plates are full. The tributes were left to help themselves with whatever they wanted. The Careers gathered around one table, as if to show that they aren't afraid of each other, and to show off their superiority on the rest of us. If I could, I'd go there and punch the two loud bastards from 1 and 2 in their loud mouths. The other tributes sit awkwardly as far away from each other as possible. Dining room is huge, so it's not like they can't. There's nothing weird with how the Careers and non-Careers are acting. And then there's me and Antonio bastard. We sit together for dinner. He sometimes tries to steal something off my food, which I try to laugh off. I don't think I'm doing a good job, because I'm not really the most fucking cheerful person out there, but these people don't know me long enough to know what my real laughter sounds like. Hell, the only people that probably know it by heart are Gilbert, Feli and mom, since dad's no longer here. I try to keep up a friendly conversation with tomato bastard, even trying not to insult him or stab him with my fork, which is quite a challenge.

Finding a topic is hard as fuck. Talking about home is painful for both of us. Talking about present is unbearable. We don't even want to think about the future ourselves, much less share our thoughts with each other. One day though, tomato bastard empties our breadbasket and points to every bread. They have added breads from all across Panem, all twelve districts and the Capitol. There is a fish-shaped loaf, tinted green with seaweed straight from District Four. The crescent moon roll dotted with seeds comes from Eleven. I can't help but think that, even though they're all made from the same thing, they look much better than ugly biscuits, which are standard at home.

"And that's about all, I think" Antonio says with a smile, scoping all the bread loafs back into the basket.

"You certainly know a lot about bread, don't you, tomato bastard" he chuckles at the insult and looks me in the eyes. I hate knowing that I'm slowly growing fond of these green pools, even though I shouldn't. It's exactly how it happened with Gilbert. We grew into liking each other through staring into each other's eyes.

"Only about bread, believe me, Lovi" Antonio says, snapping my thoughts back to reality "Now let me hear your cute laughter as if I've said the most amusing thing ever"

I force a giggle, which sounds like a dying rabbit more so than anything. He laughs, too. Other Tributes look at us. I try to ignore their stares.

"Alright Lovi, here's the plan! I keep smiling pleasantly, and you chat me up, while I gaze into your pretty, pretty eyes" I'm torn between blushing and punching him, but since I can't abuse him, I decide to do the former, which brings him great amusement. Fucktard. We need to stay together and it's wearing us out. Since Carlos wants us to stick together, we do, but it's wearing both of us down. And ever since I slammed the door, there's this chill in the air between the two of us.

"Did I ever tell you about that one time when I was chased by a fucking huge bear, bastard?" I ask lazily, looking down at my hands.

"No, but it sounds very interesting, cariño" I swear it's a fucking insult. He's making fun of me, that goddamned bastard.

I try to change my expressions as much as possible, as I tell him the story that has actually really happened to me. It was about this fucking bear that was trying to kill me once. It was chasing me. Hate to admit it, but if Gilbert hadn't pulled me up on the tree, I'd probably be dead by now. It's a completely different thing that the albino bastard was laughing for whole five minutes before finally helping me out. Bastard. Antonio laughs and asks questions right on cue. He's much better at this act than I am. All the more reason to consider him a threat.

On the second day, when we try ourselves at throwing spears, which he's stupidly pathetic at, he whispers to me, his hot breath tickling my ear and making me uncomfortable in the stomach. "I think we have a shadow"

I throw my spear, which I'm not that bad at, actually, as long as I don't have to throw it too far away, when I see her. She's the little girl from District 11, her skin snowy white, and wavy blonde hair hugging her pretty, yet childish face tightly. She's watching us with her big green eyes. She's the twelve year old, the one that reminded me of my brother's innocence. She's standing on her toes, her arms slightly extended to the sides, as if she's ready to run away at the quietest of the sounds. It's impossible for me to not think of her like a bird or a delicate flower, so easy to hunt down, so easy to kill, and yet so pretty and innocent, so pure.

I pick up another spare, while Antonio throws his "I think her name's Emma. She's been following us for quite a while now" he says softly. I look at him and notice that his eyes gained a more gentle look to them. I bite my lip, trying not to think how it could be my little brother here, facing the same bastards as that little girl and as I.

"And what can we do about it?" I say more' harshly than I intended to. If I have to play a cold hearted beast, so be it.

"Nothing" he answers, looking back at me "I was just trying to make a conversation, Lovino"

Now that I know that she's there, it's hard for me to ignore her. She's constantly on my mind, her shy eyes not once leaving my figure. She slips up and joins us at different stations. She's very clever with plants and climbs swiftly, almost like a true tree-climbing animal. She also has a good aim. She can hit every target in a one hundred meters radius with her slingshot. But what is a slingshot against a guy that weighs one hundred kilos, and who also happens to have a sword?

During breakfasts and dinners, Carlos and Feliks bombard us with thousands of questions, demanding to know what we did at every goddamn second of the goddamn day. Slowly, I start to hate being on District Twelve's floor with all of these people, instead of tying some knots or observing my opponents. Neither Kiku nor Yao are together with us during the meals, so they can't add any sanity to these whole conversations. Besides it's not like the drunkard and Feliks are fighting anymore. Rather, they're of one mind, making sure that we're in perfect shape and that our 'friendship' act doesn't get busted. I preferred when they were fighting much more, than what they're doing now. They feed us with what to do and what not to do during trainings, and I'm slowly getting fed up. Antonio is more patient than I, and he smiles most of the time, but I feel like I'm going to snap any second.

When we finally manage to escape to bed after our second day, tomato bastards murmurs with a tired voice "Someone ought to bring Carlos a drink" I actually genuinely laugh. He's startled and has that freaking funny expression. So I continue laughing. I guess insanity finally got to me.

"Stop, dammit. Let's not pretend to be friends when there's no one around" I scold, partly himself, partly myself. I'm not really sure anymore.

"Okay, Lovino." He says tiredly. Insanity is messing with me, because there was a flash of hurt in his eyes, which is impossible. After that, we only talk in front of people. On the third day, the Gamemakers start calling us for our private sessions, district by district. As always, Twelve is going last. Antonio and I linger in the room, not really sure where else to go, what else to do. No one comes back once they've left. The Gamemakers call Emma, and it's only the two of us, the pressure to keep the friendship act vanishes, lifting some weigh from our shoulders. Soon they're calling Antonio. He stands up.

"Remember what that stupid drunkard said about being sure to throw weighs" I say before I can stop myself. The words left my mouth without my permission. He turns to me and sends me a smile, a genuine smile, one that I haven't seen for so long.

"Thanks. I will" he says "Shoot straight, Lovi"

I nod. I have no idea why I even said anything at all. My words, it was definitely encouragement in some way. I don't know why I couldn't stop my stupid lips from opening. But then I think that maybe it's okay. If I don't win, he's definitely the one that I want to win the most. It'll be better for my mother, for Feli, for the whole District. He's better of a person than the Careers. After about fifteen minutes, they call my name. I stand up slowly, touching the Mockingjay pin instinctively. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders, before walking confidentially inside the room. As soon as I enter, however, I instantly realize that I'm in fucking trouble. The Gamemakers have been here for way too long, most of them have had way too much to drink, and all of them just simply want to go home. Watching twenty three presentations must have bored them to death, and they still have to watch mine.

But there's nothing I can do about it. I continue to the station, continue with the plan. It's pissing me off that tributes from One, Two and Four surely had Gamemakers' whole attention on them. No one probably dared to ignore them. I reach the station and look at all the bows lying in front of me. Oh, I've been itching to get my hands on them for days! They were made from wood and metal and plastic and other materials I can't name. Arrows with feathers cut in perfect, flawless uniform lines. Ideal. I lick my lips from excitement. I take one of the bows and throw a sack of arrows through my shoulder, before going to the center of gymnasium. There is a shooting range, but it's way too limited. I chose my first target, a dummy used for knife throwing. As I pull back on the bow, I know that something is wrong. The weapon here is different than the one I use at home, and my fingers aren't used to it. The first arrow that leaves my bow misses the dummy by a couple of inches. All the attention that I still had on me vanishes. I growl in frustration, feeling humiliated. I quickly snap my head back straight and shoot another arrows. The first few miss, but I finally get a hang of it.

I take my initial position and pierce dummy's body straight through the heart. Then I sewer the rope that holds the sandbag used for boxing, and the bag splits open and slams on the floor. Without pausing, I bend on one knee and shoot at one of the lights. It bursts into thousands of little silvery pieces of glass.

It's excellent. I'm doing very well. I turn to the Gamemakers. Some of them are nodding their heads in approval, smiling. But most of these fuckers are too preoccupied with a roasted pig that just arrived to their table.

Suddenly, I am furious. My life is on the line and these bastards don't give the slightest damn. They place me below some fucking roasted pig, below they're fat stomachs, below everything. It's insulting. I can feel my heart pumping faster and faster, my face getting furiously red from anger. I don't think anymore. I just know that I want to teach them a lesson, a lesson they'll never forget. I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight to the Gamemakers' table. There are shouts of alarm and some people stumble back in alarm, frightened by a pointy thing that flew towards them out of nowhere. My arrow pierces the apple in pig's mouth and makes it fly, pinning it to the wall behind the table. The Gamemakers look at me in disbelief. I'm furious, but my face remains emotionless.

"Thank you for your consideration" I smile mockingly. I give them a small bow and head straight towards the exit. Fuck that they didn't dismiss me, I'm not staying with these bastards any longer.

~INFORMATION~

Emma Meas [Belgium] as Rue

Querido – Sp. 'darling'

Cariño – Sp. 'dear/sweetie'

Bastardo – It. 'bastard'


	8. Chapter 8

Discliamer: I don't own hetalia or the hunger games

Chapter 8: Numbers

As I stride towards the elevator I fling my bow and arrows over the shadow, trying to look as calmly as possible. It's hard, because I'm still pissed at these Gamemakers, but all of the Avoxes are already looking shocked and frightened enough. I push past two of them that are guarding the elevator, and slam my fist on number '12'. I can't even feel any pain nor cold caused by the sudden touch of metal, because a plump face stuffed with cheese and other kinds of food is still stuck in my brain, laughing merrily to just as idiotic looking woman dressed into skimpy outfit, which was certainly as fucking dumb as the rest of the Capitol. I catch a glimpse of three more gaping Avoxes and frown, before the door zip shut and the elevator is flying upwards.

I actually make it back to my room, slam the door with all my strength and shout out in frustration. Tomato bastard, the drunkard and possibly even other tributes could hear me, but I couldn't care less. I walk to my bed quickly and throw myself onto it. It annoys me that it's so soft, because I'd love to taste some pain right now, right in that second. I grip the sheets of my bad tightly and bit my lower lip. Now I've fucking done it. Any chances that they would like me have been ruined by me just a few minutes ago, and just because I made something a brat would do. Screw liking me, what the fuck will they do to me right now, actually? Send me to prison? Cut off my tongue and turn me into an Avox to serve the next tributes from District Twelve, who will be send here die in the Games? Execute me? What if they do something to my mother or worse, to Feliciano? What if they take their belongings, or kill my mother and take Feli to a foster institution? What if they kill my little brother as a punishment? They wouldn't, but on the other hand, why not. It's not of interest to them, if two more people die. What was I thinking, shooting at the Gamemakers. I mean, I wasn't trying to shoot them, I've wanted to shot the apple the whole time, but how can they know it? How can they fucking know that I wasn't trying to kill them? They can't. They have no idea that if I wanted any of them dead, they would be. I wouldn't miss.

Oh, fuck this. It's not like I was going to win the Games anyway. There wasn't any hope to begin with. I'm just a poor kid from the Seam from District Twelve, who happened to be good at shooting. There's no way someone like me could survive the Games, could win. Not someone from 12. Carlos is the only exception, there's no way something like that could be repeated, much less by someone like me.

I should have stayed, I think. Stayed and apologized, or laughed it off, pretended that it was a joke or something. They looked dumb, I'm sure they would go along with the idea of a joke. The tall guy with these platinum blond hair that looked the most shocked looked a lot like Gilbert, just with a scarf and more muscles. He must have been dumb, he would have believed. But instead of fucking thinking or being polite, I walked away with an angry expression.

Carlos and Feliks are knocking on my door, ordering me to open them. I yell at them to go away, and it takes them way too fucking long to do so. But they eventually do go away. For the next hour I try to bury my head even deeper in the pillow, using every cuss word that I know every five seconds, and yell scream into the pillow out of frustration. I can feel an unpleasant taste in my mouth, and I realize that my lip is bleeding. I lift up my head for a moment and stare at a shape on the white pillow, a small figure that came to be because of my blood. I wonder how long it's been bleeding and realize that it must have been at least thirty minutes.

I sit up with a sigh, my voice hoarse. I think that maybe screaming wasn't such a good idea. I look outside my window and stare, as the sun sets in the Capitol. It's the only thing that reminds me of home, the only thing that hasn't changed since my coming here, the only thing that the Capitol has in common with Twelve.

At first I expect the guards to come and get me. But as time passes, I realize that it won't happen. They still need another tribute from Twelve, someone that could represent a district alongside tomato bastard. But I know that I can't possibly get away without a punishment. The Gamemakers will probably do everything to humiliate me during the Games. A hoard of hungry animals might be send to get me. They can slowly kill me inside, make me more scared than ever, in front of the whole Panem, before killing me a painful death. And one thing for sure, I definitely won't get a bow and arrows to defend myself.

Before death, though, they will give me one more fucking present. A score so low that no one in their right minds would decide to be my sponsor. The training isn't open for the people of Panem, and therefore, for the possible sponsors, it's up to Gamemakers to let everyone know the worth of the tribute. They hand out scores, from 1 to 12, to show the value of a candidate. One is stupidly low, and almost no one gets it. I think there has been a few incidents, but only a few, nothing more. Twelve is also a rare score, because it's ridiculously high. It's a rare thing for someone to get a 12, and they're usually almost always the Careers. Of course the score which a tribute receives doesn't really affect their survival in the Games. Many times the ones with high scores ended up dead before 'real fun' could even begin. A few years back a kid, who only received a 3 won. But even though it's like that, the score which you get really can affect you. A tribute which receives a better review is more likely to get sponsors. I was hoping for a 6 or a 7, but I fucked it up really bad.

When Feliks knocks on my door and invites me for dinner, I decide that I might as well go. There will be a program in TV today where they will announce the scores that tributes received, so it's not like I can hide it from stupid Carlos or Feliks. And explaining myself before they see that terribly low number is a better solution than making that drunkard think I'm that unskilled. I go to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water. It's soothing, somehow. I glance at my reflection in the mirror and notice a nasty wound on my lip. I guess I bit it a little too hard.

Everyone's waiting at the table, even Kiku and Yao. Tomato bastard's stylist is saying something in an excited voice, making vague gestures with his hands, and Kiku laughs. My heart feels heavier and I can feel something dropping to the pit of my stomach. I really wish those two haven't showed up. Thinking that I disappointed them so much hurts me, somehow. It's fucking insane, because they're from the Capitol, but they tried so much. They feel like friends, like allies, they did their best to make us look stunning during the opening ceremony, and yet I've gone and destroyed it all. All of their efforts to get us sponsors were trashed, because I couldn't fucking control myself. Somehow, imagining Yao's hurt face makes my heart break. Maybe it's because he looks so feminine, or maybe it's because he reminds of my brother's innocence. Both of them turn and look at me with bright smiles, but I cast my eyes down. I take an empty sit and avoid looking at anyone, stuffing my face with huge spoonful's of fish soup. It's too fucking salty.

The adults begin a conversation about fucking weather, and I'm relieved they aren't asking any questions yet. I look up and meet Antonio's eyes. His gaze is piercing, questioning. He stares at me intensely, with his eyebrows raised. I can hear him murmur an unspoken question, 'What happened?' and it makes me mad. He doesn't know me, not at all, he's just a fucking bastard from these rich folks, and yet why the hell does he know that something's wrong? I shake my head, a sign for him to stop asking, and there's a brief flicker of hurt in his eyes. I'm confused and I hate him, because he's the one that makes everything fucking confusing. Then the adults finish the main course and Carlos turns to us, a glass of wine in his hand.

"Okay, ya little brats. Just how much did you fuck up?" I frown. That's exactly why I fucking hate people like him. They're too fucking straightforward.

"Oh, I don't really think it mattered!" tomato bastard says cheerfully. Everyone raises their eyebrows at that, even me. "By the time I showed up, they were in their own world, singing some stupid drunkard songs, playing card games, stuffing their faces with food, drinking even more. Just ignoring me, really. So, I threw around some heavy objects, and when they seriously stopped looking at me, I picked up an axe because she was so beautiful, stood with her for a while, and imagined a beautiful pool of red forming where they stood. Oh, and then they dismissed me, so I went away" his smile is a bit maniacal and downright creepy. Just what the fuck is wrong with him? I try to suppress the smile from appearing on my face. It's good to know that he was provoked, too. Well, at least he didn't try to chop their heads off though.

"You're one crazy brat, you know" the drunkard bastard starts laughing loudly, spilling a bit of wine from his glass. Yao is giggling quietly and that fucking stylist of mine is just sitting there with an expression of an emotionless statue. Feliks, on the other hand, seems furious.

"Like, why would you even think like that! That's- that's totally blasphemy!" he screeches furiously, hitting Carlos' hand with a glare. "You shouldn't laugh! Like, you should teach your students manners! Oh!" the both of them start arguing and I let out a sigh of relief. Then I meet Antonio's eyes.

He smirks at me, points at himself, and I swear he's mouthing an 'Aren't I amazing?' to me. I stare at him blankly, and a brief thought that he's told it to post point my own tale crosses my mind. But it's impossible because he fucking doesn't know.

"And poor Maria, really! She looked so lonely when I had to put her down!" he continues, and Carlos roars with laughter again.

"I thought her name was Querida Fortuna, ya cheeky brat!"

"I think Maria suits her better!" tomato bastard giggles like a fucking hormonal girl, and takes a sip of a juice. His eyes meet mine for a brief second again, and he sends me something, that in a different time and different place, I would call a warm, friendly smile. But it's fucking Antonio Fernández Carriedo and he's plotting how to kill me inside that sick mind of his. Probably with that 'Maria' too.

"What about you, sweetheart?" Carlos' voice brings me back to reality. I blink. Well, shit. The time has come. And what the fuck, why did he call me 'sweetheart'?

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers" I say as emotionlessly as I can muster, staring at my hands. All the laughter dies down.

"You WHAT?!" the horror in Feliks' voice confirms my suspicions. I fucked up really bad.

"I shot an arrow at them. Well, not at them. Just in their fucking direction. It's just like tomato bastard says. When I came in, they were busy being drunk assholes to even notice me shooting, so my hand fucking slipped and send an arrow, that happened to pierce an apple that this roast pig they were eating was holding in its' mouth. It just happened to be exactly in the center of the table, too" I say quickly, and wonder if it came out like I was fucking whining or something.

"And what exactly did they say, Lovino-kun?" Kiku asks quietly, carefully, and I can feel his gaze on me. I refuse to look up.

"Nothing. Or, well, nothing that I'm fucking aware of. I left before they could say anything" I say.

"What?! You left, like, before being dismissed?" gasps Feliks, tightening his grip on a fork.

"I dismissed myself" I say quietly. I remember how I promised Feli that I will try to win these games. That I'll do my best to survive and come back home. And how I've ruined it all just a few minutes ago, just because I'm a hot-heated idiot with no control over my rage. I feel like a ton of coal has just been dropped on me, and it feels awful. Thinking that I betrayed Feliciano out of my stupidity hurts and scares me more than the things that Gamemakers might have planned for me.

"Well, that's that" Carlos says and pops a roll into his mouth.

"I think I, like, totally need a drink" Feliks groans and sinks into his sit, snatching Carlos' glass from his hand, and emptying its' content straight into his mouth. That drunkard's eyes squint slightly. He glares at Feliks, who glares back, and they're back into their own bickering world, forgetting about me completely. Somehow, it makes me irritated.

"Will they arrest me?" I say loudly, and I'm not sure if I've managed to pray anger away from my voice. Feliks' quirked eyebrows tells me, that I didn't.

"Nah, kid, what are you sayin? There's no way. Finding someone as yer replacement would be a bigger pain in the ass than that prat over here" he points at Feliks with his head, who huffs with irritation. Before he can open his mouth again, I cut in again.

"What about my family? They won't do anything to them, will they?" I can feel everyone's stares at me. I don't blame them. It's probably the first time since these entire Games' fiasco when my voice sounded so desperate and scared. I can feel Kiku's eyes on me, but it's tomato bastard's piercing green that makes me really uncomfortable.

"Don't think so, brat. Wouldn't make much sense, and it would take much too long. For it to have any sort of long-lasting impact on the people, they'd have to revel what is it that you've done in during your presentation, but they can't, so it would be all in vain, brat" I watch as he eyes the food in front of him with boredom "Ya can expect that they'll make yer life a living hell in the arena though. And trust me, when these bastards want to fuck up your life or strength, they will definitely do it. Just a friendly piece of information, ya?"

"It's not like they aren't doing it already, amigo. I mean, they told us to come here and spend time with them. It's a living hell as it is already" Antonio jokes, flashing Kiku, Yao and Feliks a smile. They smile back, and I'm amazed how a jerk like him manages not to insult people with every breath he takes.

"Wise words you say!" both bastards laugh. I blink, as I stare them down. I glance at Kiku and Yao, who give me encouraging smiles. I blink again. I can't fucking believe they managed to cheer me up. That they aren't mad at me. Carlos picks up a pork chop with his fingers and throws it into Feliks' glass, which makes him squeal girly. Then he stands up with a stomp and actually punches my stupid mentor straight in the face.

"Like, that was not okay!"

I wonder if I have any chances of survival with a bunch like that supporting me. My mentor if fucked up and a drunkard, the bastard that repeated me is crazy, Yao has weird tendencies of giggling to himself, and Kiku refuses to show emotions. Then there's the fucking tomato bastard, who's not supporting me at all, rather he wants to kill me. He's stabbing an apple with a fork right now. He's insane.

He notices my gaze and waves his hand at me, smiling.

"What were their faces like, Lovi?" it takes me a second to realize what exactly was he asking about.

The corners of my lips move up a little, and I can see his eyes light up with something I can't quite describe. Feliks and Carlos stop their bickering for this short while, and look at me with curious eyes. "Fucking stupid. Shocked. Terrified. Ridiculous as hell, you call it. They weren't expecting that at all" I say, and an image pops up in my head "There was this one guy that fucking started choking on a grape, and that one woman slipped on nothing at all, and ripped off that other woman's wig. It was hilarious"

They all start laughing, with exception of that annoying pink bastard, who's trying to suppress a giant grin from spreading on his face, and Carlos, who's fucking guffawing.

"You've done well, kid! Just 'cause yer from Twelve doesn't mean they have any right to ignore a fabulous" here Carlos gives a mocking glance at Feliks, who scowls almost immidietly "brat like you, or that idiotic fool on my left!" his heads points at tomato bastard, and it's a relief to know that I'm not the only one who thinks he's fucking stupid.

"I think that, like, you were a little bit right. They shouldn't ignore the tributes, like, at all" Feliks says with a light huff. "I am, like, sorry if I insulted someone with my words, but that's totally what I think" he adds, looking at no one in particular. I'm pretty certain he's directed it towards the Capitol people, and it's only now occurred to me that they seriously might be listening in, and I think I've called these bastards assholes a few times.

"I'll get a low score anyway" I mumble, because it feels weird to suddenly hear all these praises from these people. Drunkard I can understand, but Feliks? What the actual hell!

"They aren't that important so you shouldn't care too much" Yao pipes in, chewing his meat bun slowly.

"You should swallow before speaking, Yao" Kiku murmurs quietly, throwing all of us an apologetic look that I don't understand. What the fuck? What exactly was he apologizing for?

"You're so annoying, aru!" tomato bastard's stylist grumbles, but swallows nonetheless "Like I said, scores don't really matter. For all the audience might now, you might have been trying to pretend to be innocent, and go all out during the Games. They can also think it's just the Gamemakers with bad tastes. Both of these have happened before. I remember, when I barely started working here, there was this one cute little girl. Seventeen was her age, if I remember correctly. She was from five. Charming girl. She got a 2, can you believe it! But guess what? She wiped out all of her opponents without much trouble, that kid. So I wouldn't be too bothered about the scores, aru"

Carlos furrows his eyebrows "There was an incident like that? When?" he asks, and I can see Feliks looking confused, too.

"Twenty two years ago, of course! I remember it like it was yesterday!" Yao says cheerfully, before taking a bite of an apple pie. We fall into silence, all eyes on the very young looking man enjoying his cake. How fucking old is he and how does he keep his youth?

"Really! Hopefully it'll be a case with me! I'll be happy if I get a 4, but I hope people will think it's because I was holding back. I would probably give myself a 1, because there can't possibly be anything more boring than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a few yards. One almost dropped on my foot, I nearly got a heart attack because of it! I think the only way for me to get anything higher than 4 is that brilliant intimate moment that I shared together with Maria" tomato bastards finishes his rant and flashes me a smile. And at that moment, I can't help myself. I throw my head back and laugh, because he's a fucking retard and it feels like home. Home, where no one will be affected by my stupidity, which means that no harm was done, really.

After dinner, we go to the sitting room and turn on the television. First, the Gamemakers will flash the picture of a tribute, and then the score underneath. Antonio sits on a couch and pats a spot next to him, grinning at me. I glance elsewhere, trying to avoid eye contact, and contact in general, with him as much as possible. Feliks is going off about something, when the music begins and they start showing the tributes. Both Careers from 1 get beautiful, round eights. Then a face of 2's girl flashes , her glare as menacing through the screen, as it is in real life. She pulls out a nine, and I wonder if's a lot in her eyes. Her obnoxious looking partner comes with a 10. I bit my lip as I stare into these clear, and yet somehow terrifying, blue eyes. I'll have to watch out for him, I think. Next one that catches my attention is a dark-skinned girl from 5. So far, hers and boy's from 2, are the only photos, on which the Tributes are actually smiling. She gets a 7. The rest gets mostly fives, though there are some sixes and fours as well. Then, surprisingly, little Emma gets a 7 as well. I don't know what is it that she's shown them, but it must have been quite impressive. I can feel a small smile forming on my face. Somehow, knowing that she's done well is reassuring. There's something about her that makes me want to protect her. Her cute photo is soon gone and replaced by a tall guy from 11. He's really well-built and makes me feel like a stick in comparison. He gets a 9. I'll have to be careful around him. Then, finally, Antonio's big face appears on the screen. I sneak a peek at him. His fists are clenched tightly, and eyes wide open. He's holding his breath. So the score really is important to him, after all. That annoying dramatic music seems to be stretching out, now that we've finally reached District Twelve. A big 8 flashes on the screen, and he lets out something similar to a sigh of relief and a joyous yelp. If he got so much, at least a couple of Gamemakers must have been paying attention to him. Carlos gives him a slap in the back and Yao ruffles his hair. And now my frowning face is staring back at me. I dig fingernails in my sweating palms. It's time to lose hope, I think to myself. But then, an eleven appears on the screen.

Eleven!

For a moment, I can't hear anything. I can see Feliks' excited expression, Kiku's small smile and Carlos' smirk of approval, I can see them move their lips, but I don't register the words. I'm too stunned. The number slowly fades away, and I suddenly start hearing again. It's like an explosion of sound, and it makes my head ache.

Especially Feliks' loud squeal way too close to my ear. I only now notice that he's frown himself at me, and has been hugging me.

"There must be a mistake!" I manage finally, looking at Carlos with wide eyes "Definitely. There's no fucking way I got an 11"

"Well, sweetheart, you just did. Shut your trap and be happy, will ya? They must've liked your fierceness. They've got a show to put on. And yer definitely gonna be one of the most interesting birdies in there"

"Lovino, the boy who was on fire" Kiku whispers with excitement. I turn to him and see his eyes sparkle with mischief. He grins and pulls me in a hug, and I don't feel like resisting. "You've done great, Lovino-kun"

"I still think it's a fucking mistake" I say. He chuckles and squeezes my hand gently.

"I'm sure it's not. We're going to make 12 Sparkle. Just wait till you see your interview dress, Lovino-kun" he says, before his eyes widen in realization. I can see that he's about to correct himself, so I cut in quickly.

"A fucking what?" I swear Yao have just muttered 'I told him it'll be a bad idea' under his breath.

"An outfit, of course" that fucking bastard dares to lie to me with a straight face like that? What the hell!

"You fucking said 'a dress'! You wanted to put me in a dress?!" Antonio bursts out laughing and I glare at him. My cheeks heat up, and oh fuck them all.

"No, you must have misheard me, Lovino-kun. I said an outfit, clearly. I don't blame you for your misunderstanding, you've just gone through a massive shock. You've been expecting a horrible score, and yet you got a brilliant one, it's normal that you're in a state of confusion. At times like that humans tend to mix up words or hear different things" tomato bastard is practically crying from laughter. I gape at my stylist "It's okay, it is not an illness, it will pass soon"

"Are you fucking-"

"As I was saying, the outfit will be amazing" he cuts me off and smiles gently. I glare at him again, hoping that he'll get the message straight. If he makes me wear a dress, I'm going to murder him in his sleep with a spoon, because I don't really have any bows and arrows here.

"More flames?" I ask sarcastically.

"Of sorts, yes" he smiles, and it's a fucking mischievous and sadistic smile, fucking hell. I've always known these Capitol bastards were all insane, absolutely crazy.

Antonio comes up to me and congratulates, a half-smile on his face. I say my congratulations, too, and then we stand in an awkward silence. It's all confusing. At times he's all laughs and smiles, and then, at the most fucking awkward moments, he just stands there like a fool and fidgets on his feet like a hormonal girl that he is. I curse at my inability to be a proper human being who can interact with people. Seriously, back in Twelve, life was so not stressful. When you were making a deal, you just greeted people, made your offer, made a deal, eventually made a small talk about hunting or how fucked up Capitol is, and then you were off. With Gilbert, it usually came naturally. We'd just start talking about nothing, and we'd talk like that for hours during some days. With Matthew it was a nice, comfortable silence, or a small talk, that wasn't nearly as awkward as that. But then here's mister Antonio Fernández fucking Carriedo, one of the semi-popular guys at school, and he's fucking silent. I get that we're enemies, I don't like him either, and I couldn't care less about his score, but what the hell, Carlos is looking at us with pointed looks and it's annoying.

Eventually we don't say anything. At all. I quickly excuse myself and go back to my room. I don't bother to take off the clothes, I just throw myself on the bed and close my eyes. I let out a sigh of relief. I had no idea I was that tired. It must've been the stress, and anger, and awkwardness, and just my temporary life here. I've been unable to calm down ever since the shooting incident, but now that it's cleared up, and a weight's been lift up from my shoulders, my eyelids feel extremely heavy. I close my eyes. Eleven. I can't believe it. A small smile tugs in the corner of my lips. I think of Feli's face and wonder if he was happy and proud of me. I hope he was. With his smiling face in my mind, I slowly slip away and let the darkness overcome me.

I wake up at down. A good sleep really does help. I feel much better than yesterday. Maybe it's because it's Sunday, a day off at home. A day I'd usually spend together with Gilbert, in the woods. Every Sunday we'd meet up in the woods just barely before the sunrise, and then we'd hunt for as long as possible. The weekdays are usually very busy, so we try to stock up on food on Sundays. When we're done hunting, we go and trade our game in the Hob, and talk a little with that crazy Heracles as he hands us his newest mixture he calls a soup.

I watch the sun rise slowly on the horizon. Gil's laughing face pops up in my head. It's almost as if I can really see him standing in front of me right now. A fairly tall boy, with a mischievous smirk on his face and terribly cheerful crimson eyes. Small wrinkles are forming on his forehead, from years of frowning at the teachers and because of the effort. His cheeks are a healthy rosy color, clothes and hands a little dirty. There's a knife attached to his pants, and a bow thrown over the shoulder. I reach out my hand to grab his, but the illusion disappears, and suddenly, I'm alone in a big room in the Capitol, lying in bed hopelessly as the sun slowly wills away the night.

I wonder how he's doing. Is he in the woods already? Is he hunting? I bet he is. I wonder if he's doing okay, though. It's not like he can't hunt, because he can. Both of us are perfectly capable of getting food on our own. We can both fight, we can both defend ourselves, we know which plants to pick up. We're both hunters, and these need to be able to cope on their own. And I'm sure that that idiot's doing just fine. But we've always been better off as a team, especially when aiming for a bigger game. But not only that. Having a partner helped. With everything. Having that self-centered bastard next to me lightened up the mood, lifted weigh from my shoulders. I could talk to him about family, school, Capitol, everything, and I'd listen to him as well, even to all of his 'I'm awesome's.

I had been all on my own for about six months when I first met that albino bastard. Or rather, was accused by him for no fucking reason at all. I was like a child, that even though knew the basics, didn't really know its' way around. It was a chilly Sunday in October. I was picking up nuts and mushrooms, trying to be quicker than little animals, readying themselves for the winter. It was a tough competition, especially because these sneaky little things were faster than lightening and, the me back then, was about as fast as Feliciano's lazy, fat cat. Along my hunt, I was also harvesting all the eatable plants I found, the only meat being a very small squirrel that I've managed to kill only because it was too stupid. It literally came running at me out of fucking nowhere. But a small squirrel wouldn't sell for much, and wouldn't fill Feli's and mom's stomachs. I knew that whit winter's arrival, I'd have to forget about the herbs and nuts, because even then, in early October, they had all been dying. I remember that on that day I strayed further from home than ever before, and was hurrying back, when I came across a dead rabbit. It was hanging on its' neck right above my head, its' wide, lifeless eyes staring at me. About fifteen yards further was another one. I knew that technique. They are called twitch-up snares. My father used them a lot, because they were very profitable. When a prey was caught in one of these, it was yanked upwards and hung high in the air, to prevent other animals from stealing it away. I had been trying to learn them, as well as other snares, for the whole summer, but it was in vain. I was about as good with snares as I was with being nice, sweet and loveable. That's why, having seen a snare so well done so close to me, I wanted to examine it. I put down my belongings and came closer to the wire. My hands touched it delicately, trying to memorize the way it should be tightened, when an angry voice snapped from behind me.

"That's dangerous, kiddo"

I jumped back several feet, my head snapping quickly towards the direction his voice was coming from. Suddenly, a very real and tall boy materialized in front of me out of fucking nowhere. I realized that he must have been standing behind the trees the whole time, carefully watching my every move. I was fucking terrified, because even though he was only 14 back then, he was extremely tall. Well, taller than normal boys his age, and at least two heads taller than me. In my eyes, he was no different than an adult man. His face wasn't unfamiliar to me, it would be hard to forget someone with that eyes color. I'd seen him around the Seam and at school, and I'd often hear him a lot, too. He wasn't exactly the quietest person out there. But there was one more time when I've seen him. Back in January, I wasn't the only oldest child in the family, who was receiving a medal of valor in the Justice Building. His father was killed in the same explosion as mine. I remember standing next to his mother. Two small boys were clutching by her side. She had a swollen, round belly, a sign she was only days from giving birth to another child. A beautiful, little girl, as it turned out it the future.

"What's your name?" he asked, coming over and undoing the snare around rabbit's neck. His fingers moved fast, but I didn't have time to be impressed by that. What impressed me more were three identical rabbits hanging off his belt.

"Lovino" I said quietly, staring at anything but him. Somehow, he annoyed me.

"Well then, Domino. Didn't you hear that stealing is punishable by death?" he asked me with seriousness in his voice, glaring at me coldly. Strangely, it didn't make me flinch or anything. It just made me irritated. Plus the bastard mixed up my name.

"Lovino" I said louder, glaring right back. His pale eyebrow rose at that "And for your information, bastard, I wasn't stealing. I was trying to take a look at your snare, because for a bastard such as yourself, it's done very well. And mine never catch anything, so I thought I might learn something" he frowned at that.

"You could at least stop lying, brat"

"I'm not fucking lying" I growled.

"Oh yeah? Then where did you get the squirrel from? Did it fall from heaven?" he asked skeptically, his eyes bore into mine.

"I shot it, smartass" I pulled my bow from my shoulder, showing it to him. I was still using the smaller version, that my father has made for me, but I was practicing with the full-sized one whenever I found some time. The smaller one would never be as good as my father's, for it lacked in size and strength. I hoped that I would nail it till spring, and then try to get bigger games. Which, of course, would bring me better trade. Gilbert's eyes were focused on the bow. I could see amazement in them.

"Can I see that?" he asked, and his voice was so fucking hopelessly hopeful, that I handed it to him.

"Just remember that stealing is punishable by death, bastard" I said. He blinked and looked at me. At my emotionless face.

That was the first time I saw him smiling such a nice, warm smile. As it transformed into a toothy grin, I couldn't help but think how much it has changed him, from someone menacing and annoying, to someone you truly wish you knew. It took me six months to return that smile, though.

We talked about hunting then. He was so fascinated with my bow that I said I could get him one, if he really wanted to. But not for free. He had to trade. He argued almost right away, saying that he has no food to trade. But I didn't want food. I wanted him to trade techniques with me. To teach me snares, so that I could make some of my own and catch a lot of fat rabbits in one day. Agreeing took him ages, and when he finally did, he was very reluctant. As seasons went by, we grudgingly kept exchanging our knowledge. He taught me fishing and making snares, laughing every time I'd fuck up. In exchange, I told him everything about the plants which were eatable. I showed him where to get them, as well as some fruits and nuts. He showed me where rabbits and wild turkeys liked to spend their days. With every passing week, we became closer, and eventually I gave him one of my precious bows. He was excited like a little child, and run through the woods shooting arrows at random things, while laughing maniacally. It was the first day he got a smile from me, and the invisible wall between us fell apart. Soon after, we became a team. No words were exchanged about that, we just stopped being lone hunters. We became partners, dividing our goods in half. Meeting up in the woods and talking. Making sure that both our families had enough food.

Gilbert gave me a sense of security that I've lacked ever since my father's death. Being together with him, I feel like I've improved my hunting abilities. Not having to constantly turn around and make sure that nothing was going to eat me alive really helped. He had my back and I had his. When that fucking wolf was trying to throw itself at me, Gil threw a knife, which pierced its' head. It was a big prey, that one. But because I fucking hated being indebted, thankfully, something tried to kill him, too. It was a rather insane turkey, running around like crazy. It would practically run him over if I didn't shoot it in time. Hunting partners were great. But he became so much more to me. He became my support, someone whom I could confidante to. I could tell him everything I think about various things, and he didn't judge me. I told him my secrets, my insecurities. In exchange, he told me his. He could be very annoying at times, though. Sometimes, he'd randomly hug me, just to piss me off. When he really wanted me to chase him around, trying to shoot him dead, he'd kiss my cheek playfully when I was least expecting it. He was the very first person I could call a friend. Being in the woods together with him, no matter how fucking annoying he could get, made me really happy. Happier than I've ever been at home or school.

I call him a friend, but recently, it doesn't feel quite right anymore. It doesn't seem to express just what exactly that loud, albino bastard is to me. I know we're not really just friends, but I have no idea what to call us. A pang of longing shoots through my chest. I turn my head sideways, staring at the spot the imaginary Gilbert was standing at just a little while ago. I can't believe I miss him so fucking bad. If only he really was here together with me! But I don't want that. I would never want him to be in a place as fucked up as this one. A place where he'd have to go out to the area and, most definitely, be killed in just a few days. I just miss him. And it sucks, because he's just a bastard, and his ego would boost that much more if he heard about my longing. But I miss him, and I hate being so alone. Does he miss me, I wonder? He must.

An 11 from yesterday flashes in my mind and I know exactly what he would say to me.

"There's always a place for some improvement! You should learn from my awesomeness!" and then he'd give me a big, warm smile, that I'd return without hesitation.

I can't help comparing what I have with Gil, to what I'm pretending to have with tomato bastard. It's unfair, and I know it, because the latter one can never be on the same level as the first one. What I have with Gil is real. I've never, not even once, questioned his motives. Not even when I just thought about him as annoying prick. Not that I don't do it now, I do. But right now, he's an annoying prick, who is my best friend. I know that I could tell him everything, and he'd never betray me. But Antonio? All I can do is doubt him. Will he slip me poison in the drink, will he slit my throat when no one is looking? I can't help but have those thoughts whenever I look at his face. But then again, our situations are too different. Gil and I are both from Seam. We were thrown together by mutual desire to survive. But tomato bastard is from the richer part, he had never experienced my life, and in our case, one's survival means the other's death. How do you overlook that?

Feliks is knocking at the door, reminding me in his loud, booming voice, that today is another 'like, totally big, big, big day!". I roll my eyes and get up. Carlos is going to tell us today how we should act during the interview, which will be televised tomorrow. I bet Kiku and the rest of the stylists are having their hands full with preparations.

I head to the bathroom and undress. I walk into the shower and carefully hit a few buttons, making sure to avoid the 'tomato scented' one. Wouldn't want a creepy tomato bastard sniffing me again. I shudder at the memory. I quickly dry myself and put on some clothes. As I reach the dining room, I notice Feliks, Carlos and Antonio hurled up together around the table, talking in hushed voices. I raise my brow, but brush it off. Just another weird thing they're doing, I think, and load my plate with delicious food. There's a stew made of soft lamb chunks and dried plums, laid on a bed of rice. I devour about half of my breakfast, when I realize that no one's talking. I swallow quickly and look at the drinking bastard.

"What's wrong? You're coaching us on the interviews today, aren't you?" I ask, swallowing another forkful of my stew.

"That's correct, spunky brat" he nods, taking a sip of wine. Seriously, why the fuck is he drinking that early?

"So talk. It's not like eating will prevent me from hearing" I say. I notice the pink bastard exchange glances with my stupid mentor. Suspicious.

"Well, kid, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach" Carlos says, staring at me calmly. Fucking creepy, in my opinion.

"What approach? What change?" I can't fucking remember our current approach. Do we really have one? Is it acting like friends in front of other tributes? Because that's literally the only thing that comes to my mind. I don't remember any other possible strategies.

Carlos shrugs, placing his glass down. "Antonio has asked to be coached separately from you from now on. So I'll be doing just that"


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I down't own hetalia

Chapter 9: Interview

Betrayal. That's the first thing I feel, followed by anger. Both are ridiculous. Unjustified. I shouldn't feel neither of these, I should be either happy or indifferent, which one is correct, I don't know. But definitely not betrayed, not furious. For me to feel betrayal because of such a thing would mean that he have betrayed my trust. But for that to happen, there would have to be trust first, between him and me. There isn't. He's just an asshole, an enemy, another tribute, a bastard, a liar, another person that wants me dead, someone whom I'll have to kill in order to survive. Not a friend, not an ally, not someone worth my trust. I bite my lip, trying to desperately believe what my mind is telling me.

But my heart knows better, and I secretly agree with that blood-pumping bastard of mine. A person who threw me bread even though he got beaten up for that, someone who lied for me when I slipped about the Avox girl, someone that held my hand to keep me steady in the chariot, told Carlos passionately about my hunting skills so that our fucking mentor would know what I need to learn, an asshole with the fucking brightest smile I've ever seen directed at me… how the hell could I not trust someone like that? Someone so foolishly stupid, so foolishly nice, so painfully, painfully Feliciano like?

On the other hand, I feel relieved. We can finally stop pretending to be best friends, I can drop the smiles and nice words. They were too hard for me, anyway. The 'allies' game finally came to a halt, and I'm glad. It's time. The Games begin in forty-eight hours, and something fucking cheesy like trust or friendliness would just weaken me. Whatever made tomato bastard come to such a decision, I should be grateful for that. Maybe it's because I outperformed him in the training, or maybe he's even more tired of the whole 'friends' bullshit than me. I don't know, and honestly, I don't give a damn. I'm glad he's realized we're enemies, and that's all we'll ever be. It's better, much better that way. And just once, my heart agrees with my mind, and with me.

"Yeah, whatever" I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand "So what's the schedule? You must've divided your time somehow, drinking bastard" he frowns at the nickname, but brushes it off almost instantly.

"Each of ya will get four hours with that pinky guy over here" he points at Feliks "And talk about useless stuff like presentation. And then honey, you'll come back to me for content. Get it?" I nod, watching Feliks' reddening ears.

"What exactly did you, like, call me?" I'm grateful that Carlos waves him off for once. I'm pissed, and I don't really feel like listening to their childish argument. I glance at Antonio and hold back an unpleasant laughter. He's pointedly looking at his folded hands, obviously not wanting to look me in the eye. Coward, I think as I straighten up. Feliks' lips are moving with the speed of light, but I don't exactly hear him. Being able to tune him out, I'm glad I was able to master that incredible ability.

"So, spunky brat, you're startin' with Feliks. Any problems?" both of them are looking at me, and I'm sure that if I turned just slightly, I would see a furious light green eyes daring me to complain. I slowly shake my head, briefly wondering what exactly Feliks would be teaching me for four fucking hours. "Good. He's yours"

The pink bastard smiles with pleasure, and takes my hand in his. I bite my lip, my teeth finding the cut from yesterday, and also the pain. I really just want to pull away, I'm not used to psychical contact, but I know it would upset him. And upset Capitol man is worse than normal Capitol bastard, or so the drunkard's told me.

We reach my room, and he pushes me on the bed, hurrying to the closet. He takes out a pair of high heels from there and places them in front of me, smiling brightly. I stare at him and then at the shoes.

"What are these for?" I ask, trying to sound as not pissed off as possible. I think I'm not very convincing, because his eyebrows furrow, and his smile gets just this tiny bit more fake. His eye twitches, too.

"Why, high heels of course, sweetie" he coos sweetly, but I know he's secretly thinking that I'm stupid. You can see it in his damn eyes.

"Yeah, I can see that. But what are these for?" he tugs a strand of hair behind his ear, and I must admit that he looks quite feminine. I wonder what they're feeding the stupid male bastards here. Yao looks like a fucking woman, Feliks looks like a fucking woman, half of the population in Capitol that isn't a female probably looks like women!

"For walking! Kiku told me that it might be necessary for you to, like, master twirling around in these, in case he doesn't finish your newest outfit on time! I still can't believe you denied his dress, it was, like, totally beautiful. Sparkling red and stuff. All the tributes would be jealous of you, sweetie" he sits down next to me, looking pointedly at black shoes of death.

"What the fuck?" I look at him with wide eyes "Kiku wanted me to wear a fucking dress?" Feliks cringes and shuts his eyes tightly.

"Well of course he did! You have, like, a very smooth skin and full lips. You're the cutest boy I've ever seen, sweetie. People love sweethearts like you, especially if you twirl around in cute dresses, on, like, beautiful heels"

"Well then you're all fucking crazy" I grumble, looking at the deadly shoes in front of me with disgust "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a guy. And men don't wear dresses. Especially not when they're going to their own death" he stares at me with unreadable expression, though his fake smile is still present. He stands up and walks towards the closet. His hand go through multiple fabrics, before he pulls out white material pants and a long, yellow dress. I open my lips, but he holds up his hand.

"Shush!" he walks out from the room, the clothes still in his hands, and comes back a few minutes later with a satisfied smile on his face. He throws the clothes at me. "Now go and change. It's the closest I'll ever get to Kiku's thing, and we'll, like, have to practice you walking around in that"

I put on the clothes, first pants and then the dress, which I realize is ripped in few places. I look in the mirror and stare at myself. It's amazing what few rips can do. The dress looks now like a normal shirt, with just really long strands of fabric from my waist to my ankles. From the back it almost looks like a cape. It also reminds me of a flower, sort of. It's like petals meeting together around the receptacle. It doesn't, however, look like a dress at all. If it was Kiku's idea, then he's actually a genius.

"You look quite dashing right now too, skarbie. Now, practice, practice!" Feliks claps his hands and rushes to my side, pulling my hand once again. He tells me to walk around the room, so I do, but apparently I don't do it gracefully enough. The strands of material that follow me around like a shadow are actually fucking annoying. I spend forty minutes just walking around the room, before the pink bastard finally nods approvingly and tells me to sit down next to him. As soon as I do that, however, he smacks my head.

"What the hell?" I growl, glaring at him.

"Like, loot at your posture! Terrible, just totally terrible!"

For another hour I just keep sitting on my bed. It turns out that sitting normally is a no go, and that I have to sit like a fucking 'good young man'. Since fucking when does your way of sitting decide whether or not you're a 'good young man' goddamit? Also, it turns out that when I sit, I have a tendency of ducking my head. And then comes two hours of fucking smiling. Eye contact, waving your hand, and smiling. The last one is mostly about smiling more often, and less like a murderer because, apparently 'it is, like, totally not cute'. Then there's eye contact, that I better keep up through the whole interview, and try my best not to betray my real thoughts. Like smacking someone in the head, for example. And then there's waving. As soon as I walk in, I'm supposed to wave. Something about getting on people's good side right from the beginning. Then Feliks makes me say various phrases, which usually begin with a smile, end with a smile, and are said with a smile. By the lunchtime, my cheeks are twitching from overuse.

"Well, that's the best I can do" Feliks finally says, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Somehow, no matter what he does, he's fucking graceful. "Just, like, remember, Lovino, that you want the audience to like you" he adds, looking at me with tired eyes.

"Are you saying they won't like me?" I ask sullenly. It's a great confidence boost, seriously. Nothing makes you quite as confident as someone saying that no one will fucking like you. Asshole. Or, like Gilbert would say, unawesome.

"Not if you glare at them the entire time, obviously. You have to smile, and leave the glaring for the arena. Like, be happy. Be smiley! Be fun!"

"Why the hell should I smile at someone who's going to enjoy watching me die?" I ask, and he sighs with irritation.

"Think that they're your friends! I'm sure even you can, like, smile at your friends" my mind flashes to Gilbert again, but I try to get rid of the image as fast as I can. My blood boils at a mare idea of someone comparing a true friend to a bunch of strangers, who just want you to die in a most spectacular way possible. I grit my teeth.

"So someone who's betting on my death counts as a friend in Capitol?"

"Well try and pretend that they are!" Feliks spats, his eyes wide from anger. He quickly regains his composure and puts on a fake smile. "See, look at me. I'm totally mad at you, and yet I'm smiling"

"How convincing you are indeed" I grumble under my nose.

"What did you say?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"Nothing" I lie and stand up "I'm going to change and eat. And then I'll catch Carlos. Time's up anyway, isn't it?" he looks at his wristwatch and nods slowly. I quickly undress from the clothes, which I slowly began to hate, and sprint off from the room, before that fucking pink bastard can think of another torturous thing.

Tomato bastard and our stupid mentor both seem to be in pretty good moods. That cheers me up a little. Maybe at least the content session will be an improvement, and maybe it'll actually make a change in my presentation in tomorrow's show. I smile delicately as I head towards the table, but it turns into a frown as soon as my eyes meet Antonio's for a split of second.

After lunch Carlos takes me to a sitting room, orders me to sit on the couch and then just stares at me with a frown for a couple of minutes. It's fucking unnerving and creepy.

"What?" I ask finally, regretting that looks can't kill. His death would be one of the greatest things happening, actually. And I'm sure he's actually a little stoned.

"Nothing. Just trying to figure out what to do with ya, brat" he says, taking a sit next to me. I move away from him, but he moves closer to me right back. I hold back a growl and a string of curses. "How we're going to present you, sweetheart. That's a seriously problematic question. Do we want you to be a charming lil' prince charming? Aloof? Maybe fierce? Do we want them to think you're cute or hot? I've no idea, sweetheart. So far, you're the shining star of these Games. You volunteered for your brother, oh, how brave, how amazing, the people were sayin'. Then Kiku made you look unforgettable with his clothes, and not one person could take their eyes off of ya. You've got the top training score from all of the tributes. People are fascinated, intrigued, curious. They know you're amazing, that you do a lot of incredible things, surely, but they don't know who you are. And they'll want to meet you, get to know you at tomorrow's show. The impression you do tomorrow, will decide exactly what I can do in terms of sponsors for ya" Carlos says, before taking a sip of water from his glass.

Having watched the Games for the past few years, I know that he's right. Whether people will like me, it all depends on the attitude I'll be playing. If you appeal to the crowd, be it when you're being eccentric, playful or brutal, you gain their favor.

"What's tomato bastard's approach? Or am I not allowed to know?" I ask.

"Likable. He doesn't even have to pretend, he was born with a bright personality. People are going to love him, just like moths love flames" he glances at me with a sour expression "And whenever you open your mouth, sweetheart, you just make people want to punch you in the face, and call you sullen, rude and hostile" I look at him with boredom, desperately hoping that he'll choke on his water and drown in his own salvia. Asshole.

"Thanks for the fucking motivational speech, bastard"

"That's what I'm talking about, brat. That attitude of yours, it ain't exactly the most heartwarming thing out there, ya know" he smirks, and looks so smug, that I just want to punch his face with all my strength. But I grit my teeth and just look at him with narrowed eyes. "I don't know where you pulled that cheery, happy lil' prince charming in the chariot from, but I haven't seen him before or ever since" Carlos says, taking another sip of his water.

"Well, I don't exactly have many reasons to be cheery, do I?" he sighs, much like Feliks has before, with irritation. It's kind of awesome to know that I can annoy the hell out of people. Maybe I'll be able to annoy some bastard to death during the Games. I bite my lip again, trying to prevent those thoughts. I'm sure that all the stupid ideas come from Antonio. Obviously, his stupidity has affected me. I knew it was better to avoid that fucker since the beginning.

"Listen, you don't have to please me, okay? Frankly, I could care less if you're a smiling idiot, or a cursing mess. But you have to please the audience and all that shit. I hope you get that. So now, pretend that I'm the audience. Please me. Amuse me. Entertain me" he says with a smug expression, looking at me challengingly.

"Fine" I snarl. He gets into the role of the interviewer and starts asking me questions. I try to answer them as nonchalantly as possible, in a way that would win people's heart, but I can't do it properly. I'm too furious at my mentor, and with every question, my fury grows bigger. I start to think how horribly unfair the Hunger Games and everything related to them are. Thinking that I'll have to act like a mindless puppy, just to please some fuckers I hate makes me want to scream in frustration at the whole world. The longer the interview goes on, the bigger my fury becomes. With every question I'm more pissed, and soon I'm spitting out the answers through gritted teeth.

"Alright brat, enough" Carlos says finally, and by looking at his lifeless eyes, I know I've messed up. "We've got to find you another personality to fit into, because you're not doin' any good at this one. I've asked you fifty questions, and I know nothing about you, your family, your friends, your past, what you care about or about what makes you happy. And you know what? They want to know about you, Lovino. And answers like that would put 'em off"

"But I don't fucking want them to know!" I shout, feeling my anger overcome me completely "They already have my fucking future and know what my little brother looks like, do you seriously think I want these bastards to have my past, too? To know what my best friend is like, or how my father died in a mine accident?! Then you're fucking wrong!"

"Then lie! Make something up!" he yells back, looking just as furious as I do. We stare at each other for a while. Carlos takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh "I know it's not easy, but it's important, brat"

"I can't lie" I say. It's not entirely true, because a big part of my life is made up of lies. At school, near the Peacekeepers, the folks around the town. Even around Feli, sometimes.

"Well you better learn that fast then, because you're about as charming as a dead slug" Carlos says, staring directly into my eyes.

Fuck. That actually hurt. He must've caught on, because his expression turns into an apologetic one, the voice turns softer. "Hey, sweetheart. Why don't you try humble?" he asks, smiling softly. I blink.

"Humble?" I repeat, staring at him disbelievingly. How the fuck does one act humble?

"Well, you know. That you think that Capitol is the most amazing place you've ever seen. That the people are absolutely nice and lovely, and that they're fashion sense is great. Can't forget about their clothes, they practically breath clothes. I don't know, say that you can't believe that all of this is happening to you, a little boy from 12. That the food is delicious. Talk about your stylist, about your prep team. Hell, even about the room you're staying at! If you don't wanna talk about yourself, at least praise the Capitol. Please the audience. Gush, honey. Gush" the only thing that I can think right now is 'how the hell do you gush?'. Carlos is looking at me pointedly, so I clear my throat.

"Yeah, okay. Go" he nods and starts questioning me.

"So, what is your favorite part of the Capitol, Lovino?" I blink. Think, dammit, think. My favorite part of the Capitol? How the fuck should I know, I've never been anywhere outside this stupid residence.

"The… sky" Carlos looks at me with that deadpanned expression.

"Sky? Are you serious, spunky brat?"

"What! I've never been to… well, anywhere here! And I don't like anything in this fucked up city, okay? I don't like the people, I don't like the way they dress, I don't like anything, fucking hell" he asks me some more questions, but it's obvious that I can't gush. The next hours are hell on Earth, the greatest agony of the day, and an absolute torture. Drinking bastard makes me try out many personalities, and none of them is working. I am not likeable, because apparently, I cannot stay not frowning for longer than twenty questions, and my smile is twitching in the corners. According to Carlos, I look like someone's stabbing me with something, and I still try to look cheerful. And failing. The next one is funny, but my fucking mentor doesn't laugh at any of my jokes. Then we try sexy, and even though he thinks that I have enough appeal, I cannot use it for my life. Not my fault no one has flirted with me back in 12. Mysterious doesn't really work either, because I'm too blunt. One of Carlos' greatest plans is me acting cocky, so he's completely devastated when even that fails.

"I thought you would be a very cocky lil' bastard!" he complains. I don't know what to say to him, so I look at my lap. I tried my best to act like Gilbert, but it didn't exactly work out. I'm too 'vulnerable' for ferocity or some shit like that.

By the end of the session, I'm awfully tired and I'm no one at all. Carlos has started drinking wine right after 'cocky' failed, and he sounded quite nasty right now, his voice hoarse. He looks at me with resignation. I turn my eyes away.

"I don't know anymore, sweetheart. I don't know. You're the most difficult tribute I've ever known. You're too blunt. You're too hateful. Just… answer questions and try not to insult people" he finishes and stands up. I grit my teeth but nod, before sprinting to my room.

I eat dinner in complete isolation, ordering as many delicacies as possible. By the time night arrives, there are only few tomatoes left in my tomato mountain. Somehow, these little fruits make me feel better, they take some bitterness and frustration out of me. I refuse to remember that the bread from few years ago had them inside, I refuse to remember tomato bastard's grinning face. I punch my pillow in frustration, taking out my anger on it. Anger caused by Carlos, by Antonio, by Feliks, by Hunger Games, by my fucking unfair destiny, by fucking Capitol people. I throw some plates on the floor, and it actually helps. Helps me remember that they're all just assholes, that I just hate all of them. When the black haired girls come in to turn down my bed, her big eyes widen at the mess in the room.

"Leave it!" I yell, glaring at her hotly "Just leave it alone!"

Her, too. I hate her too. I hate her eyes, knowing and judgmental. I hate her for her thoughts, which probably are the same as the ones in my dreams. That I'm a weakling, a coward, Capitol's puppet, a heartless demon that didn't even try to save her. She probably thinks that justice has finally come to pass. Hopefully, my death will please her. A pay back, life for a life. Mine for her brother's, or friend's or boyfriend's, I don't know who he was to her. I watch as she leaves the room in a hurry, and punch the bed once more. I hate it, too. Fucking Capitol people, living in luxury.

I snap my head up at the sound, and feel my eyes widen. She's back, holding a wet cloth in her hands. She slowly walks towards me, carefully avoiding broken plates and glasses. She wipes my head off sweat and dirt, before reaching for my hands, smeared with blood. She carefully wipes them, too, and ten runs a finger through each scar. Why is she doing that? Why am I letting her do that?

"I should have tried to save you" I whisper, watching her feminine, small, soft hands. They don't feel rough like a man's hand. They feel comforting, supporting.

She shakes her head, giving me a soft squeeze. What does that mean? That Gil and I were right to stand by? That she's forgiven us? That it was okay to not do anything?

"No, I've done wrong not trying to help you" I say, looking up at her. "I shouldn't have just stood there, doing nothing. You deserved to be saved. You deserved to be alright" I press. She glances at me, and shakes her head again. Then she taps her lips and points at my chest, her eyes never breaking the contact with mine. I think she means that I wouldn't be able to help her. That I'd end up as an Avox too. Or that I'd be dead. And I probably would have.

"Still, a man that doesn't help a woman isn't worth calling himself a man" I say slowly, repeating the words my father has always repeated to me. I feel stupid for yelling at her earlier. I shouldn't have. She hasn't done anything wrong. Her eyes twinkle, and for the first time I see her smile ever so slightly. All the anger I've felt previously disappears.

I spend the next hour helping her clean the mess in the room. I pick up the broken plates, and she sweeps away all the remains of glasses. When the garbage is done, she turn down my bed and points at it, then at me, and then at a clock. I understand instantly. I crawl into bed, much like a five year old kid would, and let her tuck me in. She gives me another weak smile, and leaves my room. I want her to stay. I want her to stay at least long enough for me to fall asleep. I want her to be here when I wake up. But her face isn't the last thing before I finally pass out. It's darkness.

When I wake up, a pretty Avox girl isn't the first sigh I see, either. It's Leon's expressionless face. I can vaguely hear Mei and Yong Soo somewhere in the room, talking not quite silently enough. That's right, I think. My lessons with Carlos and Feliks are over. Today is Kiku's day. He's my last hope, my last possibility. Maybe he'll come up with an idea who I should be. Maybe he'll make me look so wonderful, that I won't have to fucking worry about who to be. Maybe I'll look well enough for Capitol people to not care too much about my responses.

My prep team works on me till late afternoon, turning my skin into a glowing masterpiece. Yong Soo paints designs on my arms, all the while trying to persuade me that my chest belongs to him. Mei slaps his head and chatters away, as she paints flame designs on my nails. It's girly as fuck, but I don't tell her anything, because it's their job to do everything to make me look as good as they expect. She says something about this incredible new fashion in the Capitol, and I stop listening right then. She doesn't seem to notice though. Leon is silent the whole time he weaves strands of red into my hair my hair, in a pattern that begins behind my left ear, and finishes at the very end of my haircurl. They darken my eyebrows, and add some pink to my cheeks, making it look like I'm blushing. That, too, is fucking stupid, but I don't comment on that either. Finally, they cover my entire body in a powder, that makes me sparkle with golden dust.

Then Kiku enters with something that must be my outfit for the night, but I'm not sure, because it's covered. He smiles delicately. "Close your eyes, Lovino-kun"

They help me put on the pants, and then I feel some material slid over my shoulders. I briefly wonder if it'll be any similar to the outfit Feliks made me wear, but I brush it off, too relieved that it isn't a dress. I clutch Mei for support when they slip me into my shoes, completely flat to my relief. There's some adjusting and hushed whispers. Then silence.

"Can I open my eyes already?" I ask, a little uncomfortable.

"Yes" Kiku says, his voice quiet "Open them, Lovino-kun"

I stare at the stranger looking back at me in the mirror. I don't recognize that person. The man in front of me is wearing black pants, ending a little bit before the ankle, and a shirt very similar to the one Feliks made me wear before, but yet so different. It's black and has tiny red buttons at the top, making it look a tad like the shirt Yao wears. There are no sleeves, however the patterns Yong Soo's drawn previously compliment it nicely. At the left side of the shirt, there is a flame, going all the way down the cape-like strands of clothing. I notice that the material is mostly black on the outside, excluding the flame patterns, but on the inside, it's bloody red. The outfit is covered in reflective precious gems, red and yellow and white, with bits of black and blue that accent the tips of the flame design. Adding the golden dust, and the slightest movements gives impression that I am surrounded by fire.

I'm not pretty, cute, beautiful or hot. I am as radiant as a fucking sun.

For a while there's silence, and we all stare at me. I turn to Kiku.

"Thank you" I choke out. I'm not used to these words, I'm really not. He takes my hand into his and squeezes it delicately, sending me a small smile. I smile back, a real, genuine smile, and Mei giggles.

"Will you twirl for me, Lovino-kun?" Kiku asks. If it was someone else, I would say no, I would say fuck you, but it's Kiku and he makes me feel better. I hold out my arms and spin around. My prep team screams in admiration, and Kiku's smile widens.

He dismissed my prep team. Yong Soo and Mei hug me tightly, wishing me good luck. Leon gives me a reassuring smile and a nod, and walks out after his friends. Kiku looks up at me and makes me walk around the room in the clothes, making sure that I'm a dazzling, radiant creature with every step I take. Doing all of this, walking around and smiling is much easier around my stylist than Feliks, I muse to myself.

"That's enough, Lovino-kun. Would you care to join me on the sofa?" he asks, and I don't exactly have a choice. I take a sit next to him, and meet his eyes. Warm, brown eyes, wishing me nothing but the best "Are you ready for the interview then, Lovino-kun?" he asks quietly. Judging by his voice and expression, I can tell that he's heard from that fucking drinking bastard about my condition. No reason to lie, I think.

"Not at all. I'm fucking awful at all of that. Carlos said I have about as much charm as a dead slug. No matter what we tried, I couldn't be any of these people. I can't do any of the impressions. I suck, Kiku" he stares at me and takes my hand into his again. It's incredibly hot against my cold one. It feels nice.

"Why not be yourself?" he says casually, looking at the wall intensely. I blink.

"Myself? Oh, you've got to be kidding me, idiot. Have you ever seen be myself? I fucking curse a lot, insult people, I'm sullen and hostile. Well, that's what the drinking bastard says and-" I'm interrupted by his chuckle. I turn to glare at him "And what the hell is so funny, bastard?"

"Oh, no, Lovino-kun, I just think that you're completely adorable and charming" I blink again, staring at him with disbelief. Adorable and charming? Me? "You are hostile and sullen, but only around Carlos-san. Around me, you are not like that at all"

"I'm not?" I ask stupidly, and he actually laughs.

"Not at all, no. I don't find you so. You're very natural towards me. You say what you feel, and that's incredible. I really like you, Lovino-kun. The prep team adores you, Mei-chan talks about you all the time, believe me. People from the Capitol can't take you of their tongues, you're nearly everything they discuss about in excited whispers. You even won the Gamemakers, Lovino-kun. People adore you and your brave spirit"

"My spirit" I echo. That's a new, refreshing thought. It suggests that I'm a fighter, in a brave way. It's not as if I'm never friendly. Okay, maybe I'm not the friendliest person out there, who's all smiles and sunshine, but I do have my moments, too. My smile and laughter might not be easy to come by, but it's not like they're never here. They are, especially in the woods. Maybe I don't go around, loving all people that I meet, but I certainly have those that I care about dearly, these I would do anything for just to keep them from harm.

Kiku runs a thumb across my hand. It's soothing. "About the questions, forget that there are Capitol people there, Lovino-kun. Think that you're addressing a friend back home. That you're answering his or her questions. Who would your best friend be?"

"Gilbert" I answer instantly, and Kiku's smile twitches just a bit wider "But that's stupid. Why would I answer the questions? He already knows everything there is to know about me. He wouldn't have asked me these questions. There's no way that I can do it, Kiku" I add quickly. Shit, I'm starting to sound like a little frightened girl.

"What about me?" he cuts in quickly "Could you think of me as a friend, Lovino-kun?" I nod slowly. Ever since I came to the Capitol, Kiku's been the only one that hasn't disappointed me. I liked him ever since I first came here. It's like he had a vibe that screamed 'friend' at me. By far, he's the only one that seems to understand me, even if only a little bit.

"I think I could" I agree "But Kiku, what-"

"I'll be sitting on the main platform with the other stylists" I should probably punch him for cutting me off all the time like that. "When you're asked a question, find me, look at me, and answer the question as honestly as you can. Can you promise me that, Lovino-kun?"

"Are you insane?" I manage "What do you mean honestly? Whatever they'll ask me, I'll probably think something horrible. Do you seriously want me to answer honestly when what I think is horrible?" he nods.

"Especially when what you think is horrible. Will you try it?" I nod. It's a plan. Maybe not the greatest, but definitely the one most likely to succeed in my case.

"You're an insane bastard, you know that?" he laughs, and I give a small smile of my own. Soon it's time to go, but it's way too fast for me. We leave my room and go towards the elevator. The interviews take place on a stage constructed in front of the Training Centre. I can hear Yong Soo's cheerful voice in the distance and I stop. Kiku looks at me.

"I think I have stage fright" I say quietly, because it's fucking embarrassing and cowardly. In just a few minutes, I'll be in front of the cameras and the crows, answering fucking questions. That's not exactly my idea of 'fun'.

"Remember that they already love you" he says gently, taking my hand into his again. "Be yourself" I nod, and we start walking again. I see Yao's figure in the distance and turn to my stylist.

"One last question before you send me to my death on the stage" he shakes his head with a disbelieving smile, and I smirk back. "How old is Yao exactly? It's been fucking bugging me since yesterday" he laughs loudly, which ends up with everyone from our team turning in our direction. He leans in to my ear, and whispers

"No one knows, Lovino-kun. No one knows" his voice is so serious and mysterious, and yet he has that wicked grin on his face, that I can't stop myself. I burst into genuine laughter, not caring that Antonio's and Carlos' eyes are wide from shock, or that everyone is staring at us. As we finally approach the rest of our crew standing next to the elevator, I glance at tomato bastard. He's wearing a nice, black suit with flame accents. It's striking and we match nicely together, but I'm glad we're not dressed identically. I nod at my fucking mentor, but try to avoid eye contact with him as much as possible. Even though my anger's melted, I still haven't forgiven him. Feliks approaches me and showers me with praise. I accept the words gratefully, because even though the pink bastard can be annoying as hell and he gets on my nerves, he's not as destructive as the fucking drunkard.

When the elevator opens, the other tributes are lined up to take the stage. All twenty four of us sit in a big arc thorough the interview. Since I'm from District Twelve, I'll be either going last or second to last, I don't know yet. It's really fucking unfair. For once they could start from the end, so that I could go first and get it over with. But no, as always, District One must begin and I'll be stuck watching all the witty, cute, smart, likeable, fierce, humble, sexy and charming bastards. My stage fright will only get worse as I watch everyone go up on the stage. Plus the audience will get bored, just like the Gamemakers did. And I can't exactly shoot an arrow at these assholes, no matter how much I want to. Or can I? Kiku said that I should be myself, and right now, I want to kill everyone in the room with my whole existence. I resist the urge to slap myself, and instead look at the other tributes. They're all stunning.

Right before we parade onto the stage, Carlos comes behind me and Antonio and growls "Remember that you're still a happy pair, brats. So act like it"

What? I thought we fucking abandoned that whole 'friendship' act as soon as tomato bastard asked to be coached separately! I turn to him with a glare, and find his eyes as confused as mine. For a brief second, our eyes lock, but I turn mine faster than he can his. So I guess that the fact that we're not 'friends' anymore is a private thing, not a public one. Anyway, not like there will be much chance for us to show the world how much we like each other, not here. A tall woman with greenish blue hair and a clothing that no Capitol woman would be ashamed of, is leading us to single-file to our seats. Just stepping on the stage makes my stomach tighten unpleasantly, and my heartbeat quicken rapidly. My breathing gets shallow and the only thing that keeps me from tripping is the chair that I've finally reached. Although the evening is falling, the City Circle is brighter than a summer day. An exclusive seating unit has been set up for prestigious guests, with the stylist in the front row. On the far right off the building, on a balcony, the Gamemakers are all already gathered. Other balconies are mostly occupied by Television crews. And then there are people. A lot of Capitol people gathering in the City Circle, standing. There are hundreds or maybe even thousands of them. I swallow, feeling heat rise to my cheeks and my pulse quicken even more. At homes and community halls around the country, every television set is turned on. Every citizen of Panem can see this place, the people, the Tributes, and me. There won't be any blackouts today or energy shortage. Everyone will see me sit here awkwardly and look absolutely miserable in the stunning clothing Kiku's made for me. Fucking peachy.

Tino Väinämöinen, the man who has hosted the interviews for the past forty years, is a blond haired man with strands of dark blue and bits of yellow in his hair. He's probably more than sixty years old already, but looks no more than twenty five. He's looked like that since the first interview he's hosted, and it's fucking scary. The only thing that's changed are the colors on his hair. Last year it was red and green, the year before it was orange, and the year before that, it was a fucking rainbow.

He's wearing a white suit, with dark blue patterns on his right side. It's dotted with thousands electronic balls, and makes him shine like a starry sky in the night. I heard that they do special surgeries to people in Capitol to make them look younger and prettier, but I don't know how true that is. Tino looks absolutely natural to me, and Yao does too. They don't come off as people who would do these kind of things, but maybe I'm wrong. I have no idea what is wrong with Capitol anyway. Back in District 12, living up to an old age is worth congratulating. It's almost impossible to find people over forty, because hunger takes them away. Same with plump people. At home, when you see a person with some body fat, you envy them. You envy that they have food, that they look so well fed, that they're not suffering from hunger. But here? Here round belly is something unacceptable, ugly. Everyone that isn't slim is basically treated like an outcast. Then again, they never had to worry about their food. The Capitol and District 12 are two different words, I remind myself. Tino tells a few jokes to warm up the audience, but then he straightens up and calls the first person.

The gender confused bastard from 1 steps up to the center of the stage to join Tino. His, or maybe hers, blond hair are curled in a shape that reminds me of Feli's goat's horns. She, or maybe he, is wearing tight gold pants and matching long-sleeved shirt with beautiful ornaments. He-she, looks absolutely adorable, even I must admit it. After just a few questions I know he-she is humble, and fuck, that bastard pulls it off marvelously, with these blushing rosy cheeks and dreamy smile. I could never pull that off.

After three minutes the buzzer goes off, and the next tribute is up. This amount of time is both too long and too short, in my opinion. It would be better if you wouldn't need to go out there at all, but since you're already there, how the fuck are people supposed to know who you are just after three minutes? Then again, the shorter you're out there, the less time you have to make some embarrassing mistake. And even when you do, Tino is always there supporting you. He laughs at lame jokes, talks about the topics that make the tribute shine the most. He's very supportive.

I sit like a gentleman, just like Feliks instructed me to. I play with my hands as the tributes and districts slip by. The girl from 2 is beautiful, and I think she goes for a combination of sexy and dangerous. She pulls it out easily, in her purple dress and heels. After her goes her fellow tribute, and he's definitely aiming to look like a killing machine. He answers the questions cheerfully, but there's a dangerous glint in his blue yes. 3, 4. The girl from Five is sly and elusive, the bottom of her gown remind me of mermaid's tail. I spotted Kiku and Yao as soon as they took their places, but even my stylist's presence can't comfort me. 6, 7, 8, 9. I try to remember all the lame jokes Gilbert's told me, all of his 'I'm awesome', his stupid little brother that clearly has hots for Feli. I try to remember Feliciano's fat cat, his goat, his radiant smiling face. The woods, hunting, my bow and arrow. My mom, my dad, the songs we sang together before his death. Kiku, Kiku, what was Kiku's fucking advice again? The boy and girl from Ten both come on and off the stage, and soon it's little Emma's turn. She has a plain, white dress, tied with a red ribbon around her waist. She's wearing flat shoes and angel wings on her back. She looks so innocent and pure, so child-like. As she takes her place next to Tino, hush falls over audience. The interviewer's very sweet with her, complimenting her seven in the training, a score excellent for someone her age. She thanks him with a delicate smile, and something clutches me by my heart. She's only 12, I realize yet again. I try to focus again. Tino asks her what her greatest skill in the arena will be, and she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"I'm very hard to catch" she says, looking absolutely sure with these shining eyes of hers. "And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out" she adds, looking up at Tino.

"I wouldn't in a million years, little angel" he says encouragingly.

The boy from Eleven, Lars, is completely different than Emma. He might have blond hair and green eyes, just like her, but that's about as far as the similarities go. There's a scar above is right eye, he's tall and intimidating. I'm sure he's about three heads taller than me, maybe three and a half. He's body is built like a fucking ox. But he didn't join the Careers, I remember. They invited him to join their table of snobs, but he wouldn't go. He sat alone and minded his own business, he didn't care much about the training, but still got a 10. There's no mistake that he's impressed the Gamemakers. Tino tries to pull him into a conversation, but he completely ignores it, answering with only yes or no. At other times, he's silent.

That's unfair, I think angrily. If only I was his size, being hostile and sullen would be totally fine! Better yet, it would play in my favors! A huge, unsociable guy with amazing score? I'm sure at least half of the people here are considering to become his sponsor. Hell, I would bet all my money on him if I could.

And then they're calling Lovino Vargas. This is it, I think as I stand up. Fucking hell. I really hope that people in the audience can't see the inner fight I have with my own sanity, but I think that they don't, because they're all too fascinated with Kiku's work of art. Thank you, you perverted bastard you. I take Tino's outstretched hand and shake it. When he doesn't wipe it off right into his suit, I decide that he's a good man.

"So, Lovino. I believe that the Capitol is a huge change from District Twelve, isn't it? They must be very different. Tell me, what impressed you the most since you came here?" Tino asks.

What.

No, seriously, what the hell did he just say? It doesn't make any sense, what is he talking about? I feel my mouth go dry and desperately look for Kiku in the crowd. Our eyes lock and I imagine the words coming out from his mouth. 'What impressed you the most?'. He told me to be honest, completely honest. What made me happy since coming here?

"The tomato soup" well damn, I've definitely caught Antonio-Gilbert-Feliciano kind of virus, because I've became fucking stupid.

Tino, however, laughs in amusement, and I notice that some people from the audience have joined him. "The extra creamy one?" he asks and I nod slowly. He closes his eyes and smiles contently "Oh, I love it. I eat at least one plate a day" he says sweetly, before turning to the people with a mock-horror expression., patting his belly "It doesn't show, does it?" the crowd yells back their responses, reassuring him that he's looking perfectly in-shape. That's what I meant about Tino supporting you. He tries to help you out as much as possible.

"You know, Lovino, when you came out in the opening ceremony, my heart actually stopped. You looked absolutely stunning. What did you think of your costume?"

"You mean after I got over my fear that, oh my God, I'll burn alive in few moments?" I respond, trying to be as honest as possible.

Big laugh. A real one from the audience.

"Yes, exactly" he grins at me sweetly, and I feel myself relaxing just a bit.

Think of Kiku. I'm sure he wants to know anyway, he's never asked. Yes. He deserves to know. "I think it was incredibly beautiful. It was like nothing I've ever seen before. It was so gorgeous, I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I couldn't believe the person on the screen, wearing that amazing piece of art was me. I can't really believe I'm wearing that one, either" I point at my outfit, quite proud of myself for not adding any cuss words in between. The audience lets out 'ooh's and 'ahh's. I notice Kiku's finger trail a little circle in the air, and I know what he's saying. Twirl for me. Again, it's fucking stupid and girly, but I'm doing it for a friend.

I stand up and spin around, and the reaction is immediate. People scream in adoration, and I know I'm doing well. Better than I would have done without my stylist.

"Could you do that again?" Tino asks politely, his eyes sparkling with interest. I look at Kiku and he's nodding his head delicately. One more time, I tell myself. For Kiku. I spin around again, giving the impression that my outfit is on fire. Right after that, I sit down and notice Tino's sad expression.

"Can't you do that again?" he asks, but I shake my head 'no' with a little giggle. God, I really hope that it sounded like a giggle. I don't fucking giggle. But judging by Tino's wide grin, I congratulate myself on doing a fairly good job so far. "Well alright, we don't want you to feel dizzy and end up like your mentor" he winks his eye, and all the cameras turn towards Carlos, who is by now very famous for his fall during the reaping. He waves them off lazily and points back at me.

"So Lovino, how about your training score? E-le-ven! That's really incredible! Give us a hint, what's happened there?"

I glance at the Gamemakers and bite my lip. I can't tell them, right? Hell, I don't want to tell them. "I don't think that I can tell you, but I'm pretty sure it was a first"

The cameras are on the Gamemakers, who are nodding and smiling, some are laughing at the memory. I suppress a smirk of my own. "Oh, you're killing us!" Tino moans, pouting in that cute fashion "Details, we need details!" he says and the crowd applauds. Shit. Think, Lovino, think.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it, am I?" I ask, my eyes focused on the balcony. Cooperate with me, goddamit.

"He is not!" one of them yells, and I recognize him as the guy who fell into the punch bowl. It's hard to forget that face.

"Thank you" I nod and turn back to Tino, who is wearing a kicked puppy expression. Thank God I had years of training with Feli back home "Sorry, my lips are sealed"

"Let's go back to the day of the reaping then. And the moment they called out your little brother's name" he says quietly. The atmosphere around us grows more serious "Then you volunteered. Can you tell us about him?"

No, I definitely can't tell all of you. Not someone, who could have been the reason for my brother's death if I hadn't volunteered. But I could tell Kiku. I'm definitely not imagining the sadness on his face, it's clear like a cloudless sky. He really feels awful about me having to answer that damn question.

"His name is Feliciano" I start quietly, remembering his warm brown eyes and bright smile "And he's only twelve. He's too young to be here, too young to be a tribute. He's my little sun and my absolute everything. And I love him more than anything"

The City Circle is frighteningly silent now.

"What did he say to you? After the reaping?" maybe it's just me, but Tino is whispering. I swallow hard. Honest, I have to be honest.

"He asked me to try really hard to win" I say, not breaking my eye contact with him. I can actually hear his breath hitch. The audience, too, seems frozen in terror.

"And what did you tell him?" Tino asks gently.

But it doesn't make me feel any warmth. Quite the opposite. The bastard in front of me is one of the reasons I had to come here, one of the reasons my little brother was in danger. All of these people in the City Circle, too, they might feel bad now, but in reality they'll enjoy seeing me die, just like they would enjoy seeing my little brother die. These Games are a form of entertainment for them. I feel an icy rigidity take over my body. My muscles tense as they do before I kill. When I speak, my voice seems to have dropped to a cold growl "I swore I would"

"I bet you did" Tino gives me a light squeeze. I have to try my hardest not to slap his hand. And then the buzzer goes off. "Sorry, we're out of time. I wish you the best of luck, Lovino Vargas from District Twelve" we shake hands and I head to my sit. The applaud continues long after I'm seated. I breath out a sigh of relief and turn to look at Kiku. He's giving me a small smile and subtle thumbs up. I did fine.

During the first part of Antonio's interview, I'm still in a daze. He has the audience from get-go, though. He's playing the 'likeable' part very well, just like he does the 'baker's son' part. I vaguely register him talking about different kind of breads, and then comparing the tributes to the bread from their district. It earns him a lot of laughs. Then he says something about the showers and smelling like roses, and for some seconds he and Tino take turns to smell each other, every time not convinced if the other smells like roses. The audience is charmed by that, and they're laughing the whole time. My whole focus only comes back when Tino's asking him if he has a girlfriend at home.

Tomato bastards hesitates, and gives an unconvincing shake of his head. Seriously? He has a girlfriend? An idiot like him? I bet she went for his looks.

"Oh come one, a handsome lad like you? I'm sure there is a special someone in your heart, you just don't want to admit it"

The idiot sighs and looks up at the crowd with a blush. "Well, there is one person. He's a boy though, the cutest and greatest person I've ever known. I've had a crush on him ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure he didn't know I was alive till the day of reaping" he says, and people shout in sympathy. They can relate to that, an unrequired love. How fucking touching.

"Oh? Has he got a girlfriend? Or maybe another boy?"

"I don't know, but a lot of girls like him. They're very crazy about him, but think that he's unapproachable. And I think that some boys have a crush on him, too" I raise my brow. There's someone like that in Twelve? I had no idea.

"So then, here's what you do. You win, go home and ask him out. There's no way he'll turn you down, eh? Surely, no one can say no to a person that came back from the Games" Tino says encouragingly. All traces of smile disappear from tomato bastard's face. Instead, there's sort of a pained expression crossing his face.

"I don't really think it's going to work out, señor Tino. Winning won't help. Not in my case"

"And why not, dear?" Tino asks, mystified. Even I'm a bit curious.

Antonio blushes tomato red and his eyes fall on his lap. "Because…" he starts, stuttering "Because he came here with me"

Tino Väinämöinen (Finland) as Caesar Flickerman

Lars Jensen (Netherlands) as Thresh


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer; I don't own hetalia or the hunger games

Chapter 10: Let the Games begin

For a moment, the cameras are focused on Antonio's face, his downcast green eyes, as what he says finally sinks in. Then, instead of his, my face takes place on the huge screens. My expression is a mix of surprise, protest and horror, magnified on every screen as I, too, realize. Me! That fucking idiotic son of a bitch means me! I bite my lip and dig the nails in my palms, trying to suppress the huge amount of emotions that is slowly boiling inside of me.

"That's really some terrible luck, boy" Tino says softly, but there's an edge of pain in his voice. The crowd moans in agony as well, as if agreeing with him on that matter.

"It could have been better" tomato bastard agrees, a faint, pained smile on his face. Tino looks even more devastated at that.

"I don't think I can blame you, dear Antonio. I don't think any of us can. Lovino is a very charming young man. It'd be hard not to fall for an amazing person like him" the presenter says "He didn't know?"

Antonio shakes his head "Not until now, no"

I look up at the screen and stare at my face, or more like my cheeks, painted red from the unmistakable blush. Shit, why do I have to be the blushing type?

"Wouldn't you love to pull him back out here and get a response?" Tino asks the audience. My eyes widen at the idea. My head is completely blank, I wouldn't be able to answer anything, not even punch the fucking bastard! The crowd screams assent, and a panic slowly raises inside of me "Sadly, rules are rules, and we cannot let Lovino enter the stage again, since his time has been spent" I immidietly relax at that.

"I'd actually like to give him some privacy and let him answer me without the cameras" Antonio says with pinked cheeks and glances at me. I hope I don't look to murderous.

"That's very thoughtful and romantic of you, though that would be keeping us in the dark and that would just kill me!" Tino exclaims, and the audiance agrees with him again "Well, best of luck for you, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, both in the games and in love. I'm pretty sure I'm speaking for all of the Panem when I say our hearts go with yours"

The roar of crowd is deafening. He's done it. Even though he was the absolute last person out there, he had managed to wipe out the rest of us with his declaration of love for me. When the audience finally settles down, he chokes out a "Gracias" and returns to his seat. We stand for the anthem. I detest the fact that, out of pure respect which I don't have, I need to raise my head. What I hate even more are the shots of me and Antonio, separated by only few feet, that in their eyes can never be breached. The poor, tragic us, cursed by fate and forced to fight against each other. Tragic lovers. But I know better. There's no love. There's no romance. There's tragedy, but one that doesn't concern the both of us. It concerns me and my family. Him and his. Little Emma's and hers. All of the other tributes and their families'. But it's not a tragic love. It never was, it never will be.

After the anthem, the tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators, ready to take them back on their floor. I make sure to get into a car that doesn't have a certain Antonio Fernández Carriedo in it. The crowd slows down our stylists, chaperons, mentors, everyone, so we only have each other for company. No one speaks. My elevator deposits four tributes before I'm left alone. Not long after I reach the twelfth floor and step out. At the same moment, Antonio walks out from his elevator and we stand face to face. His mouth opens, but I'm quicker. I slam my palms on his chest in fury. He loses his balance and crushes on an ugly vase with fake flowers in it. Because of the pressure, the vase falls down and crushes on millions of pieces, tomato bastard falling right on the shreds. There's blood flowing out from his hands, and I feel a little bit better at that. He deserves that.

"What was that for?" he says, aghast.

"You had no fucking right!" I scream, glaring into his green eyes "You had no fucking right to go and say all of these things about me!" The elevator opens and now the whole crew is there. Feliks, Carlos, Kiku and Yao are all here now.

"What's going on?" Feliks says in a hysterical voice, glancing from me to the traitor on the floor "Did you fall?!"

"Yeah. After he shoved me!" says Antonio, as both of the stylist help him up. Yao looks a little bit panicked, however Kiku's face is unreadable, as always. Carlos turns to me with furrowed eyebrows.

"Shoved him?" there's a dangerous note in his voice, but I don't care.

"This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of an idiot in front of the entire country?! Making me a laughing stock of the whole Panem?!"

"It was my idea, Lovino" Antonio says, wincing as he pulls out the shreds of pottery from his hands. The really are cut in many places. "Carlos just helped me with it"

"Oh, well, that's fantastic! He's so fucking helpful, shame that only towards you!" I spat, glaring at the both of them. I hate them. I hate them so fucking much. Why am I the bad one again? Why am I always the bad one?

"You are a fool, brat" drunk bastard says with disgust. There's no sadness or guilt over what he just said. Just anger, and I'm glad. Because I'm not weak enough to get bothered by what that son of a bitch says "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something that you could never achieve on your own, you ungrateful fool"

"He made me look weak!" I protest.

"He made you look desirable! And let's be honest there, you need all help possible in that department. You're about as romantic as dirt, and during your presentation, you were as romantic as some dead rat, though it might offend the poor animal! But then he said he wanted you. And now they all do. You're all they're talking about now! Star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!"

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" I say.

Carlos grabs my shoulders and pins me to the wall. His breath reeks of alcohol and it takes all of my strength to not elbow him in the stomach and run away "Who cares! It's all a big show! That's all you are to the people here! Puppets in a show, made to entertain them! That's how you all are perceived here! The only thing I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, and that itself was a small miracle. After his interview, I saw you in a light of a heartbreaker. How, back in Twelve, boys and girls fall to your feet longingly. How they all want you, crave you! Which do you think will get you more sponsors?" his breathing is making me sick. I shove his hands off my shoulders and step away, inhaling some fresh air.

Kiku comes over and puts an arm around my shoulder. Somehow, it automatically makes me feel better and I relax a little "He's right, Lovino-kun"

I look at him, somewhat afraid of an expression I might see. But he's smiling reassuringly, and all of my anger fades away. "You should have told me, at least. So that I wouldn't look so damn stupid"

"No, your reaction was perfect, aru. If you'd known, your face wouldn't look so real. I doubt you'd blush, too. It was a very nice touch, by the way" Yao says, patting my head. It doesn't feel annoying, either. Huh, the stylists are seriously weird. Normally, I'd punch anyone for touching me, but somehow, I don't mind if it's the two of them.

"He's just worried about his boyfriend" Antonio says gruffly, tossing away a bloody piece of urn.

My cheeks burn at the thought of albino bastard. Oh God, he must have laughed to death tonight. Either because he thinks it's a miracle that someone might have fallen in love with me, or because of the 'There are a lot of people in the district that like him' lie. His laughing face pops up in my head, along with his mocking voice. My blush deepens "Gil's not my fucking boyfriend" I choke out, staring at the floor. Shit, I hate my gens. Why can't it be Feli, the sweet lovely Feli, who blushes a lot? Why fucking me?

Carlos is looking at me with disbelieving eyes. Stupid bastard, I bet me having a lover hasn't even cross his mind. Well, I don't have a lover, but that bastard shouldn't be so shocked by a possibility of me having one, goddammit!

"Whatever" Antonio rolls his eyes "And I never said I meant him when I said boyfriend" he adds, though it sounds bitter. I realize my mistake for saying Gilbert's name and curse my stupidity.

"Well for your information, he's kinda the only person you could mean" Shit, it sounded pretty fucking weird, too "The albino bastard's pretty much my only friend, if that makes you feel better, Mr. Popular" that didn't come out bitter, did it? Antonio stares at me, and shrugs.

"I bet he's smart enough to know the bluff when he sees it, anyway. Besides, you didn't say you loved me. So what's the matter?"

The words are sinking in. The reality, my position, those are sinking in, too. I think back about my performance. I answered some questions, but other than that, I was a spinning mess in a sparkling creation of gods. There was nothing more to me, and my only moment of glory was when I was talking about Feli. Because that's the most emotional I got. Compared to Lars, I'm forgettable. Not wholly, since there's still my 11 from the session, but I definitely didn't gain any supporters and sponsors.

But now Antonio has made me an object of love and desire. Not just his. He said I have many admires, and even though it's not true in the least, Capitol doesn't know at all. And if they really think that the two of us are in love… I remember how strongly they reacted to just his confession. They must be dying to know my answer. Star-crossed lovers. Carlos is right, they eat up this kind of thing in the Capitol. It excites them, interests them. Shit, what if I didn't react properly? Knowing me, I might have looked pretty murderous at some point.

"After to- Antonio said he loves me… do you think I could have been in love with him, too?" I ask. There's a bit of a pause, and I can feel tomato bastard's intense gaze on me. I try to ignore it.

"I did! In my opinion, you could have felt very strongly about him. The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush… it was perfect, aru" Yao says reassuringly. The others chime in, agreeing.

"You're golden, sweetheart. The sponsors are going to line up to get to the two of you. They already love you" drunk bastard says, slapping my arm lightly.

I'm embarrassed about my behavior earlier. I did and said some terrible things, not considering the circumstances. I can feel another blush forming on my face, and a lump forming in my throat, but I try to suppress them both. I turn to Antonio and look at his bleeding hands. A part of me is still happy for having done that. For making him suffer, just a little. Because he's still a bastard, no matter who he pretends to be. But I feel bad and guilty, too. His hands will be a vital point to his survival in the Games. He will need them a lot. He's helped me, and all I did in return was give him an injury. Will I never stop owing him? "I'm sorry for shoving you" I apologize quickly, glancing at his face briefly. He looks bored.

"Doesn't matter" he shrugs, and it pisses me off. He should be fucking angry at me for doing that. He should shove me right back. He should call me something offensive. Anything! "Though it's technically illegal"

"Are they okay?" I ask, ignoring his last question. He stares at me blankly. What is he, stupid? "Your hands. Are they okay?"

"They'll be alright" he answers, looking away from me. I don't know what else to say, so I look at the floor. I hate this kind of silence. It's awkward and heavy, and no one ever knows what to say. It's not the silence from the woods that I'm used to. It's the one that falls between me and my classmates in school back home, or when I'm around strangers. I hate it. It makes me want to scream in frustration, and that's, as Gil always says, unawesomely pathetic as hell. But then, thankfully, a delicious smell of our dinner flows in from the dining room, and Carlos breaks the silence.

"Come on, you two brats must be hungry. Let's eat" We all follow him to the table and take our places, but Antonio has to be led out a little bit later, because his hands are bleeding too much. Yao takes him to a medical room. We start a creamy rose-petal soup without them, but I can't really enjoy it. Tomato bastard and his stylist come back few minutes later. I look at Antonio's hands, now covered with bandages, and the guilt from before is becoming stronger. I'm such an ungrateful idiot.

After dinner, we watch the reply in the sitting room. I seem stupid and shallow, twirling around in Kiku's creation, although the otters reassure me I am charming. I somehow don't believe them for my life. The one that's charming is actually Antonio, and with his confession, he's absolutely winning as a boy in love. And there I am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by Kiku's hands, desirable by tomato bastard's confession, tragic my circumstances, and by all, unforgettable.

When the anthem finishes, the screen goes dark and we sit in deafening silence. Tomorrow at down, we will be raised and prepared for the arena. The games won't start until ten o'clock, since a lot of residents in Capitol aren't really early morning birds, but we still have to get up earlier. There's no telling how far we'll have to go to the arena.

I know drinking and pink bastards won't be going with us. Right after leaving here, they'll be going to the Games Headquarters, and hopefully, they'll have their hands full with signing up sponsors for us, and working on a strategy on how and when to deliver the gifts to us. Kiku and Yao will travel with us to the very spot, from where we will be launched into the arena. Still, the final goodbyes will have to be said there. They won't be coming with us any further.

Feliks takes us both by our hands and, with actual tears in his light green eyes, wishes us well. Thanks us for being the best tributes it has ever been his privilege to sponsor. And then, because it's Feliks and it would apparently be something strange for him not to say something terrible, he adds "Maybe thanks to the two of you, I will, like, finally be promoted to a better district next year!"

He kisses us both on the cheeks and hurries out, with tears streaming down his pale face. Carlos crosses his arms and looks at Antonio and I, from heads to toes.

"Any words of final advice?" tomato bastard asks, not even bothering to smile anymore. Is it because we're so close to the actual Games? Maybe. But I feel better, knowing that he's done with his fake friendship game.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. Neither of you is up to the bloodbath at Cornucopia. If you go there, there's only death left for you. You've got to clear out, put as much distance between yourself and other tributes, and find a source or water" he says, nodding at both of us. "Got it?"

"And after that?" I ask.

"Stay alive" he answers. It's the same thing he's told us in the train when we were coming to Capitol, but this time he's not drunk and laughing. This time he's dead serious. And we just nod. What else is there to say, really? When I head to my room, Antonio stays to talk with Yao. I'm glad. I have no idea what to say to him, and any words of weird farewells can wait until tomorrow. When I enter my room, my bed is already prepared, however there's no sight of the beautiful Avox girl. I wish I knew her name. I know there's no way for her to tell me with her voice, since she's lost it with her tongue. But maybe she could write it down. Or act it out perhaps. But there's a possibility that it would only result in punishment for her. I wouldn't want that. She's already been through a lot, she doesn't deserve more pain.

I take a shower and scrub off everything that I'm not. The gold paint, the scent of beauty, everything. The only thing left from my stylist's efforts are nails, with painted flame designs on them. I decide to keep them in order to remind me who I am to the audience. Lovino Vargas, the boy who was on fire. Perhaps it will give me something to hold on to in the days to come. Perhaps not. Only future knows.

I pull on thick, dark green pajama pants and climb into bed. I feel too hot to wear a shirt of any sort. The warmth emitting from the blankets seems to burn my skin, so I kick them off the bed. It takes me about five seconds to realize I'll never fall asleep, and another two to realize that I have to fall asleep. Every second that I'll spare for fatigue in the arena might bring me closer to death. Hell, it might get me killed. I have to fall asleep. I take one of the pillows and cover my eyes with it, embracing it with both of my arms tightly. I lay there for an hour, two, three, but my eyelids refuse to close. They aren't heavy at all. I can't stop trying to imagine where I'll be thrown into. A dessert? A swamp? A frigid wasteland? I'm hoping for some trees, at least. They can provide me shelter and maybe some food, too. There are usually some, because without them, the Games are solved too quickly and the audience is bored and unsatisfied. But what will the climate be like? Hot? Cold? Livable? And what sort of traps have the Gamemakers hidden, ready to activate them in slower moments of the Games? And then, of course, there are my dear, fucking fellow tributes, ready to pierce me with spears, chop me with knives, strangle me to death with their hands and poison me with some herbs. I hope I won't die from the last one, that would be shameful.

The more anxious I am, the less is the probability of me getting any sleep at all. Soon I can't even stay in bed. I pace in the room, my breathing shallow and my heart beating too fast. I try to calm myself down with images of home. But instead of Feli's laughing face, I can hear his screams from the day of the reaping. Instead of Gilbert's jokes, I see his grim face. I remember my mother's desperate state after papà's death, and hope that she's not like that right now, not when Feli needs her. Then there's a flash of an explosion in the mines, and I find it hard to breath. The room feels like a prison cell, preventing me from escape. There seems to be no fresh air, just a poisonous gas feeling my lungs. If I don't get air soon, I'm going to start throwing things again. Or I'll hurt myself. Or someone. Or all of the above. I run down the hall to the door to the roof. Not only is it unlocked, but also ajar. Maybe someone forgot to close it. Frankly, I don't care. It's better for me. The energy fields are preventing anyone from making a desperate escape. But it's not like I came here to escape. I came here to get some air and look at the sky and the moon, for the last time when I can be relaxed. Starting from tomorrow, whenever I look up there, I will be hunting, and I will be hunted.

The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as my bare feet step on its tiled surface, I see his silhouette, black against all of the light coming from Capitol. There's quite a commotion going on down there. There's music playing loudly, and people singing. Some cars are honking, and there's some yelling. There's a lot of noise that I would be unable to hear if I were to stay in the room with that soundproof window. I could slip away now, without him noticing me. But there's no point, I muse to myself. There's no difference if we talk or not. Or if we talk here tonight, and not tomorrow. Plus I'd rather stay here with this sweet, heavenly air than in that stuffy cage they call a room.

My feet move soundlessly across the tiles. I'm standing right behind him when I say "It's late. You should be getting some sleep, bastard"

I can see him jump a little, but he doesn't turn around. He shakes his head a little, and I wonder if it's directed at me or not.

"I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all" he says and pats a rail next to himself. He invites me to join him. I don't really feel like being so close to him, but come up beside him anyway. I lean over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are filled with dancing people. I squint my eyes in order to see their figures in more details "Are they in fucking costumes?"

He gives a little laugh. It surprises me. I though he was done with the whole 'good guy' act "Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here, those just might be their everyday things. Couldn't sleep?" he asks, looking at the sky.

"Couldn't turn my mind off" I answer, closing my eyes. It's soothing here.

"Thinking about your family?"

I bite my lip "No" I say, a bit guilty. I really should be thinking about them now, shouldn't I? "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is seriously pointless and stupid, of course"

He hums in agreement. I can see his face clearly now. He, at least, looks tired. I'm sure that if he gave it a try again, he'd fall asleep instantly. Lucky bastard. My gaze falls on the way he awkwardly holds his bandaged hands, and a pang of guilty hits me "I really am sorry about your hands"

"It doesn't matter, Lovino" he sighs "I've never been a contender in these Games anyways"

"That's no way to be thinking" I say angrily, and blink at my own outburst. I don't know why I'm furious. I shouldn't care whether he feels like fighting or not. But for some reason, I do. A little.

"Why not? You know it's true. My best hope is not to disgrace myself too much, and…" he stops mid-sentence and glances at his hands.

"And what?" I urge him to go on.

"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only… when we're out there, you know. I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I shake my head. Because it really doesn't. Who else does he want to die as? Fucking President Edelstein? "I don't want them to change me there. I don't want them to transform me into some monster that I'm not. I want to die as the me I, myself, know. Not as the me they created"

I bite my lip, feeling inferior. While I was thinking about trees, swamps, ways to get a bow and arrows, finding shelter, killing and surviving, tomato bastard has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity. Himself. In comprassion, it has never crossed my mind. Maybe because I'm not pure at all. Death is something I came across constantly. People starving to death. My father dying. The animals dying from my arrows. I have killed the innocent before, in order to let myself and my family survive. But he hasn't. He's pure. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" I ask.

"No, I'm sure that when the time comes, I'll kill just like everyone else. There's no way I'll go down without a fight. I'm just saying that… I mean… I keep on wishing that I could show the Capitol that they don't own me. That they can't control me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games" he says.

"But you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work"

"Okay, you might be right, but within the framework, there's still us. There's still you, there's still me. Lovino Vargas and Antonio Fernández Carriedo from District Twelve. Don't you see it?" he insists.

"A little. But… seriously, who cares, bastard?"

"I do. What else am I supposed to care about now anyway, Lovino? What else is there for me to care about at this point?" he asks angrily. He's locked those bright green eyes on mine now, demanding an answer. I take a step back, not liking the tone his voice has taken.

"You could care about what Carlos said. About staying alive"

He smiles at me, but there's nothing friendly about it. It's sad, mocking and twisted, like that of a maniac's. It's not a smile a healthy guy that has been rather well-of for most of his life should have. "Okay. Gracias for the tip, sweetheart"

It's like a slap in the face. His use of drinking bastard's patronizing nickname for me. It makes my blood boil. I straighten up and glare at him as best as I can.

"Listen bastard, if you want to spend the last hours of your life thinking up some sort of noble death, that's your fucking problem. I'm not going to try to stop you from being an idiot, that's your choice. I want to spend the rest of my life in District Twelve" I say, and it comes out louder than I originally planned.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do" he says flatly. I don't know if he's mocking me anymore or not, but I only feel more fury rise inside me. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Will do" I spat, glaring at him some more. The silence is heavy, tense, unbearable. I click my tongue and turn around to leave. If I were to stay there even a few seconds more, I would definitely kill him, or at least hurt him really bad. As I reach the door, I hear his voice. I try to make out some words, but the wind is too strong. Deciding that it's something unworthy of my attention, and also something that would probably make my blood boil even more, I leave the roof. I spend the rest of the night slipping in and out of doze, imagining the cutting remarks I will make to Antonio Fernández Carriedo tomorrow morning. Antonio Fernández Carriedo. We will see how high and might that bastard is when he's faced with a life and death situation. I bet he's going to become a fucking lunatic. He'll probably become one of these raging beast tributes that kill everyone as soon as they see them, and then eat their insides. Especially the heart. I can just imagine that son of a bitch killing one of the tributes and eating their heart slowly, imagining that it's a fucking tomato bread or something. Just like Chui Sai.

Chui Sai was a tribute from District Six a few years back. He was a pretty decent, kind looking guy with glasses. He never spoke much, but smiled a lot whenever the cameras were focused on him. He gave off the air of calmness, friendliness, maturity and normalness. But then the Games started. He went completely savage. As soon as he killed his opponent, he'd approach them with devil's speed and rip their torso apart, slowly devouring their insides. He always left hearts for the last, slowly slurping blood from them. Then he'd take a bite, and even more blood would flow from the corners of his mouth. It was the most terrible thing I've ever seen. The Gamemakers had to have him stunned with an electric guns to collect the bodies of the killed Tributes he'd killed before he could eat them. There are no rules in the arena, but cannibalism isn't something that sits well with the amazing audience of Capitol, so they tried to head it off. There was some speculation that the avalanche, which finally took Chui Sai's life, was especially created by the Gamemakers to ensure the victor wasn't a lunatic.

I don't see tomato bastard in the morning. Kiku comes to me before dawn, gives me a simple white shirt and comfortable black pants, and guides me to the roof. My final dressing and preparations will be alone in the catacombs under the arena itself. The thought makes my stomach twist unpleasantly. A hovercraft appears out of thin air, just like the one in the woods, back when the pretty Avox girl was captured. A ladder drops down, a sign for me to hurry up and climb. I place my hands and feet on the lower rungs, and suddenly it's like I'm frozen. Some sort of current glues me to the ladder while I'm lifted safely inside. They've probably done it to prevent Tributes from jumping off and trying to get themselves killed. I haven't heard of such incident ever happening, but maybe someone tried a similar trick.

I expect the ladder to release me, but I'm still glued to the fucking thing when I'm safely inside the hovercraft. Some woman dressed in white approaches me with a syringe in her hand. I look at it suspiciously, trying to move my leg, my arm, anything. Nothing happens.

"This is just your tracker, Lovino. The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place it" she says in an emotionless voice, raising the bloody thing higher for me to see.

Still? She wants me to stay fucking still? I'm as still as a statue because of their fucking tricks, it's not like I can move. But it doesn't prevent me from feeling the sharp stab of pain as the needle inserts the metal tracking device deeper into my skin on the inside of my forearm. Tracking device. Those poor Gamemakers surely have to do that because they don't want to lose a tribute. These poor fucking bastards.

As soon as the tracker's in place, the ladder releases me, and the suspicious woman in white disappears somewhere. I wait by the entrance as the ladder slowly carries Kiku towards me. When he arrives, he gives me a soft smile, an unspoken 'Are you okay?'. I grimace in an answer, because I'm about as far from being okay as one can get. He's amazing though, I realize yet again, for being able to see right through me. An Avox boy comes in and directs the two of us to room with a big table, on which a lot of plates with various dishes are placed. Despite the tension in my stomach, and a feeling I will throw up any second now, I eat as much as I can. I know the dishes have many flavors, but I don't taste anything, just a lump of something that I have to swallow. For all I care, I could be eating some coal and it wouldn't make any difference, not right now. The only thing that seems to calm me down is the view outside the window. We hover over the city and then the wilderness beyond. That's what birds see. A wide, never-ending world. It must seem so small for them, so stupid. They might look like small, insignificant creatures to us, but we're probably the same for them, as soon as they set up their wings and fly towards the clouds. This view is amazing. But there are two major differences between the me now and the birds. They are free and safe. I am neither.

The ride lasts about half an hour, a terribly long thirty minutes that I spend mostly on imagining awful things and listening to Kiku's stories meant to sooth me, before the windows go black, signaling that we're nearing our destination. The hovercraft lands and the two of us go to the ladder, only this time it leads into a tube underground , into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. We follow instructions how to get to a chamber for my preparation. In Capitol, they call it Launch Room. But in districts, it's commonly known as the Stockyard. The place where animals go before slaughter.

Everything is brand new. I will be the first and only tribute to use this Launch Room. There are twenty three more scattered somewhere around here, where others are getting prepared. The arenas are historic places, preserved after the Games. They're popular destinations for people from Capitol, who visit them often during their free weeks or vacations. They come here and tour the places where the fighting took place, where the deaths happened. Sometimes there are still trails of blood on the grounds or rocks, and the tourists are said to photograph these the most. All the while they can re-watch the Games and maybe even take part in reenactments. There's a rumour the food's great.

It takes a lot of my will and effort to not throw up. I shower thoroughly and clean my teeth, staring into my reflection in the mirror. The person in front of me is a guy I know, but maybe not necessarily as well as I thought I do. He looks miserable, pissed off and lost. I slap my face with both hands. I can't break down now, I tell myself stubbornly. I'm not that weak.

Kiku does my hair. It's quick and simple, just a light touch of a brush and some adjusting of my haircurl. Somehow the second part feels a little bit awkward, but when I look up at my stylist, I know that I look exactly like when I left home. Which takes some talent, seeing as the curl has a will of its' own and stands up in various places of my head, rarely straight in the middle, and a bit to the right. Then the clothes arrive, the same for every tribute. Kiku has had no say in my outfit, does not even know what's inside the package, but he helps me put it on. They're simple, tawny pants, light green blouse, dark brown belt and a thin, hooded, black jacket that falls to my tights.

"The material's in the jacket designed to reflect body heat, Lovino-kun. Except some cold nights" Kiku says, running a hand down the jacket's sleeve. I put on skintight black socks, and pull on soft, leather boots, much better than the ones I have at home. They have a narrow, flexible rubber sole with threads, which means they're good for running.

I think I'm finished and open my mouth, only to be hushed by Kiku's cool finger against my lips. He puts one hand in his pocket and pulls out something golden. A mockingjay pin. My eyes widen as I stare at a small object in his hands. I have completely forgotten about it.

"Where did you get that?" I ask after he's removed his finger, staring at the pin.

"Off the outfit you wore on the train, Lovino-kun" he says calmly. I remember now. I took it off from my father's suit and pinned it to the shirt. "It's your district token, isn't it?" I nod, standing still as he fastens it on my outfit. How could I have forgotten about the last thing I've received from Matthew? "I barely got them to accept it. Some Gamemakers thought that the pin might be used as a weapon and give you an unfair advantage, however they finally decided to let you wear it. Though they took away the pedant that one of the tributes from District One had. If you twisted it, a hidden spike popped out. Poisoned one. He claimed he had no idea that it could do something like that, saying that he got it from his mother as a farewell gift. No one could prove him otherwise, so he wasn't punished. But he lost his token" I listen to him. Seriously, who the hell is intelligent enough to bring a poisoned pedant into the Games? Dying from that would be fucking lame, it's a good thing they confiscated it. I snap back from my thoughts as Kiku slaps my arm lightly "There, all set. Move around and make sure you're comfortable, Lovino-kun"

I do as he tells me. Walk, squat down, run in circles, swing my arms about, sit down, jump, pretend to shoot an arrow. I feel my muscles tense at a familiar position, but the clothing doesn't make it uncomfortable at all "It's fine" I say curtly.

"Then everything that we can do right now is wait for the call. Unless you think you could eat something?" he asks, but his tone isn't questioning at all. Just by looking at my face he can tell I'd throw up if he made me eat anything more. Stupid pokerfaced bastard, being able to read me so well.

"I could use a glass of water though" I say and he nods. He walks to a stand with a bottled water and pours some into a glass. I accept it gratefully and sit on a coach. I take tiny sips, as we wait in a painful silence. His hand is on top of mine, squeezing it lightly in a calming gesture. I'm grateful for that, too, but it doesn't calm me nearly as much as I'd like. If I don't do something soon, I'll go crazy. I avoid digging nails into my palm or biting my lower lip, instead biting the inside of my cheek. The little injury from a few days ago still hasn't healed yet, and, as I bite harder, a metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

Nervousness seeps into terror as I anticipate what is to come. I could be dead, flat out dead, in an hour. Maybe even less. I can go out there and be murdered on the start, pierced by a knife or strangled to death. I free my hand from under Kiku's, and trace my fingers along the hard, little lump on my forearm, where the tracking device is placed. I press on it. And I press on it again. It hurts, but pain seems to be the only thing that still kept me sane. I press it harder, which results in a small bruise slowly starts forming.

"Would you like to talk, Lovino-kun?" Kiku asks quietly. I shake my head, taking in a deep, shaky breath. He takes my hand into both of his, and encloses it. I stare at him and our hands. He gives me a reassuring squeeze yet again. And this is how we sit until a pleasant, female voice announces it's time for launch.

Still clenching one of Kiku's hands, I walk over and stand on a circular metal plate, the one that will take me up, to the arena.

"Remember what Carlos-san said. Run, find water. Everyone else will follow" he says. I nod, staring into his eyes "Also, please remember one thing. I am not allowed to vote, but if I could, I would place all my money on you, Lovino-kun"

"Truly?" I whisper. God, I feel so pathetic. I'm about to go to a place where I'll be fighting to death, and yet I feel like crying like a little girl, whose parents were murdered.

"Truly" Kiku says. Then he does something I'm not expecting. He tiptoes, since I'm a bit taller than him, and kisses me on my forehead. His lips feel hot and soft against my skin, so cold from fright "Good luck, boy on fire" And then a glass cylinder is lowering around me, breaking our handhold, cutting him off from me. I'm alone from now on, I realize with a feeling of dread. Completely, utterly alone. Kiku taps his fingers on the glass to get my attention. Then he does the same thing to his chin. Head high. I lift my chin and stand as straight as I can. Kiku gives me a last, reassuring smile. The cylinder begins to rise. For maybe about fifteen minutes I'm in a complete darkness, and then I can feel the metal plate pushing me out of the cylinder and out into the fresh air. The sudden brightness of the sun blinds me for a split of second, and the only thing I'm aware of is a strong wind and a hopeful smell of pine trees.

And then I hear the legendary voice of the legendary announcer, Neelam Ansami, as his voice booms all around me and pierces my eardrums with a fucking frightening loudness.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Zhou Chui Sai (Macau) as Titus

Neelam Ansami (India) as Claudius Templesmith


	11. a N

_**A/N: OKAY! PEOPLE! SOPA'S MAKIGN A FUCKING COME BACK. TIME TO DESTROY THIS THING! .gov/petition/stop-sopa-2013/LMzMVrQF**_

_**SIGN THE PETITION AND SAVE OUR BELOVED FANFICTIONS! **_


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